Christmas Call

Gregory Dunne

She’s digging into the earth, burying

the hardly noticeable thing

that slipped away from her body

as she was arranging a gift

beneath the tree.

She’s in the garden now

below the windows

as you talk of Chicago

and all I’m missing—

the brothers and sisters,

the nieces, and nephews.

I hear the voices of children

about your feet, as you continue,

for what seems the longest time,

before stopping

to say how much you hope

it’s worth it for me

to live in Japan

and miss so much of home.

A father’s questioning—a leaf

that falls upon the pond

of silence            out there

beside the garden—a leaf

the wind picks up

and lifts across the ice,

as you begin to speak

of your daughter-in-law, asking what

the day will hold for her?

Does she celebrate Christmas?

And there she is, I’m telling you.

She’s out beneath the Momiji, she’s opening

a yellow cloth

and wrapping it over a trowel,

               the blade glinting

as if the trowel were a holy sword

the men of old wrapped in silk

and put away at home

inside the butsudan—

a talisman

for protection

and one to symbolize  

the cutting through

of illusion and ignorance.

But I don’t mention swords

or legends,

I only mention how

                           she’s out there

putting her palm down

upon a plot of ground

that has become a part of us.

I only mention how

she says a few words  

before standing up

and coming in

to see if I’m still with you

or if I’m ready

to come and open the gifts.

Aito-cho, Kamiyama, Shiga Prefecture

GREGORY DUNNE is the author of three collections of poetry, most recently Other/Wise (Isobar Press, 2019.) He published a critical memoir on the expatriate American poet Cid Corman in 2014: Quiet Accomplishment, Remembering Cid Corman (Ekstasis Editions). He lives in Japan and is associate poetry editor at Kyoto Journal.