Sawako Nakayasu

New Poems From the USA


Danger as a texture.

Which appears first at the back of the mouth and I think about swallowing, or the inability
to swallow it away. A dark alley of the body.

Or was it a sound, danger music, and does the texture take its actual place in the dark
corridors of the ear.

Places that remain dark in the middle of any day. There are corridors, and then there are
refrigerator shelves. Fear of the kitchen. A cooked body. How to rid boxes of darkness.
How to wake up clean. How to rid a body of its darkness. In order to step out. Into the
bright and shiny danger called day.