In the People’s Republic of Cambridge

Is it bad that I forgot
what my own face looked like
when someone muttered to me,
Why don’t you go back
to the Orient where you came from!

on my way to work?
Here, too, we find
the bitter. Here I think to turn,
to answer, to berate, to smash,
to be a lesser man, an “everyman”
carrying his disappointment like a badge.
But as I think better and walk away
this, too, I’ll add
to the pulled-back temples,
the faux buckteeth,
the My, but you speak
English so well!

Blood fills my soul.
Blood fills my eyes.
I cannot hear the promise
in the whisper
of the morning breeze.

Daryl Muranaka lives in Boston with his family. In his spare time, he enjoys aikido and taijiquan and exploring his children’s dual heritages. His first book, Hanami, was released by Aldrich Press in April 2015.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.