Sukiyaki Elegy

Rooms were always larger

with her inside them,

warmth elevating

from the five foot one structure

her bones were bundled in,

mugs of tea constantly cradled

in the crooks of her fingers.


The aroma of Sukiyaki,

of simmering onions,

cabbage crisp in the pan,

melting under our noses.


With eyes larger than our dinner plates,

we stacked our hot pot meal

to the celling,

used our chopsticks as a ladder,

to climb the struts of beef before us.




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