Category: Tamiko Beyer

by Tamiko Beyer

Dear child of the near future,

here is what I know—hawks

soar on the updraft and sparrows always

return to the seed source until they spot

the circling hawk. Then they disappear

for days and return, a full flock,

ready. I think we all have the power

to do what we must to survive.

One day, I hope to set a table, invite you

to draw up a chair. Greens steaming garlic.

Slices of bread, still warm. Honey flecked with wax,

and a pitcher of clear water. Sustenance for acts

of survival, for incantations

stirring across our tongues. Can we climb

out of this greedy mouth,

disappear, and then return in force?

My stars are tucked in my pocket,

ready for battle. If we flood

the streets with salt water, we can

flood the sky with wings.

from Last DaysFind more by Tamiko Beyer at the library

Copyright © 2021 Tamiko Beyer
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

by Tamiko Beyer

I pick up a small stone, honeycombed, rust-

colored. Lighter than I expect, like driftwood

or ember. A bit of pumice in my palm.

Rocks don’t lie. What gets buried deep

eventually touches fire. And with enough heat

even the hardest stone melts then rises to surface sky.

No fixed form on this earth. We are so much more

than our genetic code. How much pressure will we endure

before we burst out of our bodies, rain

down like burning rock? The longest day brings

the dark. When the ground rumbles

I turn my shoulders to the mountains.

Open my mouth. Eat

the midday sun.

from Last DaysFind more by Tamiko Beyer at the library

Copyright © 2021 Tamiko Beyer
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

by Tamiko Beyer

Your lip cracks, sweet

water. Like to like we bleed.

Our tidal current widens the way. Not

a breaking. An easing.

Uprivered by salt winds

to home horizon, our border

hearts open. Our reed bodies fill brimful

with river water, fill brimful with rain.

from Last DaysFind more by Tamiko Beyer at the library

Copyright © 2021 Tamiko Beyer
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

by Tamiko Beyer

Issei

Plant-a-stone

generation. Have-faith-even-

the-sandiest-soil-

will-bloom-something generation.

そうね,今

only cactus. But even:

cut away spike. Slice.

Water to quench our raging.

Body made for long

day, hard work. 仕方が

ない. If a barrack

we are living, we must bend

our minds to a pot full of rice,

river full of flashing fish.

Nissei

What happened to our

tongue, generation? The-nail-

that-sticks-up-gets-pounded-down

generation. We

go when army says go.

Take only what we carry.

Shame, the heaviest

suitcase. To lift our feet, tack

shame up between door-

ways, lacquer over

eyes, feed shame with cream of wheat

to the babies. Then, paste

silence over rage.

Sansei

Power-to-the-people

generation. Yellow-peril

supports-Black-power

generation. Why-aren’t-we-

talking-about-this

generation. Harvesting

the hard knots: radish

or rage, no matter, dirt still

clings to the roots. We

yell into shame, raise our fists.

We build monuments

in the desert, rescue scraps

of culture, shake out

creases from musty kimono.

Later some open

our fists, wanting-more generation.

Yonsei

When the floodwaters receded, there we were, you-get-what-you-asked-for generation,

trying to find the pieces as best we could. But everything was slightly askew. Roofs

settling into odd angles, bicycle tires on hatchback rims, cherries smelling like oranges.

Even our faces didn’t match. One brown eye, one black. Hands too big, tongues looping

out of our split mouths. We named it beautiful, this broken world we inherited.

And we hammered each

piece somewhere new, sowing

a field full of nails.

from Last DaysFind more by Tamiko Beyer at the library

Copyright © 2021 Tamiko Beyer
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

by Tamiko Beyer

we broke bottles electrified the abandoned

macadam with our rag-bone labor

smudgy fireflies in the humid night gathering a hundredfold

now you limn the apple seeds

spit polish your steeled tongue

you gnaw gnaw down your scattered hunger, child,

bank in lusty angles

while your hatchlings in their clotted nests uncoil wet from shell

beak a widening raw

all our rage unslaked—

from Last DaysFind more by Tamiko Beyer at the library

Copyright © 2021 Tamiko Beyer
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.