Roofs
By Rin Ishigaki
In Japanese homes the roofs are low,
The poorer the home the lower the roof,
The lowness of these roofs
Weighs heavily on my back.
What can the weight of this roof be?
Staring from ten paces away
It is something on top of the house
Not the blue of the sky but
The darkness of the colour of blood.
Something that seizes me and obstructs my future
Something that consumes and imprisons my strength within
The narrow confines of that house,
My sick father lives on top of the roof
My stepmother lives on top of the roof
My brothers and sisters also live on top of the roof.
When the wind blows it makes a popping noise
On that galvanized iron
Ramshackle
Roof about the size of two rugs,
When you look
Radishes are also there
Rice is also there
And the warmth of my bed.
Under the weight of this roof
Ordering me to bear its burden
A woman’s spring, my spring, comes to a close
Far far away the sun sets