Obasan
by Maxwell Suzuki

Originally published in The Racket Journal

I offered obasan my seat in a cramped LA light rail / the strength of New Year’s mochi worn proudly on her Issei wrinkles / she declined instead / my soft thumbs stuck three-quarters of the way through a copy of Joy Kogawa / attempting to fold a metal crane below my tongue / have you seen the headlines lately, I asked / we passed Westwood and Palms and Farmdale before she answered / hai, her face resolute / elderly feet stubbornly planted to the slick floor / the razor edge of the crane’s wings chopped my throat into saltwater gills / I wanted to say: your satchel must be getting heavy or how long have you been standing or Pershing isn’t for a few more stops /

/ or they are afraid of us Japs; surely, you must know they see us as threats; I don’t want the newspaper printed with your name; or my name; please, this seat is safe /

/ rather, I swallowed the crumpled metal / and noticed the familiar lock of tetanus / the iron lingering on my tongue as I stepped onto the platform / unable to call out to her in the train’s blur.

About the Author

Maxwell Suzuki is a Japanese American writer who recently graduated from USC and lives in Los Angeles. Maxwell’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Anti-Heroin Chic, Kissing Dynamite Poetry, The Woven Tale Press, Giving Room Mag, and his personal website, www.lindenandbuckskin.com

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