Cherry Blossoms

The air smelled
of cherry blossoms
but it was too soon,
too early for the soft
pink and white
to decorate the trees,
to wash petals on the street,
too soon.

Our pace was fast;
we did not run but
made quick steps,
quick steps, laughing
like the teacher’s song,
but we hurried,
you small hand
enfolded in mine.

The roar behind us
too sudden, too fast,
the noise a train
screaming in darkness,
darkness consuming
demanding crushing
suffocating burying
darkness.

I sit in the small chair
on the small porch,
waiting as always
for you to walk home
from school, remembering
your small hand
torn from mine
too fast, too soon.


This poem is taken from the story of one Japanese mother, who was running with her daughter to escape the tsunami when the force of the water tore her child from her grasp. The mother survived; her hope is that her child did as well and is being sheltered.

If you would like to help relief efforts in Japan, the Woodinville Patch (hat tip to Belief Net) has a list of several organizations working to help the Japanese people.

This poem is submitted for One Shot Wednesday hosted by One Stop Poetry. To see more poems, please visit the site. The links will be live at 4 p.n. Central time.

Photograph: Japanese Flowering Cherry by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.