Mizuki Misumi

This Morning

As always

Mother

is dead in the kitchen

You smile

and hold the lid of a pot as a shield

The steam coming up from there and

bristling

emotion and

As always

Mother is dead

in the kitchen

Nobody ever said such a thing to me

In my womb

is a baby

Although nobody

believes he is there

my doctor tell me

I am not pregnant

at all

But in my womb

is a baby

one day in May. It looks like the world is crazy. I think about the way to fix it.　Heat haze on asphalt. The missing child creeps into my study.　He doesn't have a name, yet. The missing child is melting into the summer day. In that summer day I produce. If everybody in this world is crybaby, everything should be okay.。

In my womb

is a baby.

He is.

I hear his heartbeat.

I already have thought about

the name of my baby and

it made my doctor laugh.

You are not pregnant.

Yes I am Yes I am.

He will be born soon.

He will be born on the summer day in May.

Doctor

Isn't that a horizon

that connects inside out cat and me

that we see out there?

Hallucination?

No, this is a sense.

Umbilical

connects everybody in the world

and may pray for

peace

so

I will give birth

to this boy in the summer day in May.

No, No, No,

That is

just a Sea in May

pretending to be clouded sky

or I would have become

an old woman.

It was an evening

Like a storm

I had a hallucination that I am a human

Because I shed so many blood

A lifeline

Named Me

O Lovers who I encountered in the forest once

I forgot how to swing

It was an evening

Like a storm

Feeling is there

Always can touch it

But

Sadness is

Standing holding a pistol

Already the inside out echo

Spears even the flesh

Then this may be called as love

I

Suffer

Like a mortal woman

With flushed cheek

I am suffering

Between the everyday

and the non-everyday

I stifled

my voice.

A single sensation amid

body temperatures that do not intertwine.

A slight

encounter

in the sleeping forest

between two sleepless ones.

Who

may you be?

Always

I give thanks for the flow of time

that transforms even violence

to a smile of remembrance.

The label of myself

that I attached to myself

gives me

instant protection.

A memory

in the bone:

in a corner of the playground

a little child

on the horizontal bar,

practicing

a feet-first somersault.

Unable to spin round,left behind after class.

The sun has fallen far too low

for me to escape physical pain.

Their

remains

alone

can entirely affirm me.

    (This,I declare,is a new love song)

The reality of a winter day

shoves me in the ambulance.

Red siren

rains thick and fast.

That moment,

did you hear my newborn cry?

Then the world came back to me,

weaving through gaps

in the guise of

coincidence.

With Me as the Base.

Woman upon woman passes me by.

Once in a while,one will pause.

My outlines warp,

I decay.

The sky is clear.

A blue sky like I've never seen.

Tears evaporate,

become clouds,

become acid rain that dissolves us.

From beginning to end

consistently

I decay.

I liquefy

putrefy

become your compost.

With me as the base,

you grow.

I reach tentatively toward the sun.

My arm disintegrates.

Mommy, it's beginning to rain

Daddy, the wind is beginning to blow

Sis, the cherry blossoms are fallen

My brother is still in his hypothesis.

Still in his hypothesis, and this is the usual day.

Children

do not stop

and walk on the

gloomy way

your

day

will be faster than

this

He said from beneath the stairways

your hair have grown so much

In the dead of night, every time I try to calm my breath

I think of myself.

Every time I try to calm my breath

I think of myself.

I should think of myself only.

What I see in the distance is my soon to be

and that soon to be is very well

rounded, have I failed anything?

From beneath the stairway

"That is right"

said he.

Children

Never ever turn back

Mommy

Daddy

Sis, my hypothesized brother

have they fallen away

with the cherry blossoms?

"Am I missing?"

I didn't get to hear your voice

I am glad you were just a hypothesis.

In my backyard

My mother is buried

we can see her dried fingertip a little bit

At last

I

was able to invite and now it is bright afternoon

"Our end continues on and on"

Her dried fingertip we can see a little bit

Isn't my mother beautiful

like my garden

like my garden?

As if it was our garden.

That girl

is bleeding in the head

is still living

In summer daylight

We sell our bodies hundreds of times

a day

We wash our hands hundreds of times

a day

By selling our bodies

our hands become clean at last

Such a beautiful girl

is bleeding in the head

still

is living

The word generates itself to pardon sins is babbling and shiny

That still living girl

bleeding in the head

in summer sunshine

“Show your face real good”

and smiles

I breathe disgracefully

No room to be pardoned

Respect us

“Cute like a child”

smiles she

in the body she sold thousands of times

while bleeding in the head

Ah Now

Buzzing in the ear

in an echoing morning

in this echoing morning

in an echoing body,

echoing rain doesn’t fall

Ah Now

I felt it

(･･････.

I want to mix up desperation and admiration

Ah Now

In a whirl, and.

There occurred a thing which I felt sad.

That is sad to me but I have no way to

figure out how you feel about it.White,

painted, voice, Ah Now, in a whirl, was

I smiling? Ah Now I felt, the breath of old.

It is raining there, as usual? Ah Now,

in a whirl, and, in a whirl, and desperation and admiration

I want to mix up!

Ah Now in a whirl

These tears

I surely have in my memory, though