Izakaya
Irasshaimase! You’ll sing at the top of your voice, as I enter izakaya Shin Chan.
Beaming in bandana, bare-toed in chef’s slippers, you’ll be criss-crossing
mackerel with a knife and rubbing sea salt in the wounds, so its seared flesh
yields to my chopsticks. And when I go through the noren-split-curtain-door,
you’ll say — honto ni Arexsu chan, desu ne? — can it really be you? Alex da!
your husband will exclaim. Hesashiburi desu ne? Then we’ll be smoking
Menthol Lights in the tatami room upstairs, as you top up my Oolong Hi. Sigh,
and sit for hours, soles touching paper sliding doors, eating skinny chocolate
Pocky from a glass. Your hair — the same as when I left — dyed brown, in a
ponytail for work. You’ll prepare us karage, doused in Kewpie mayonnaise, a
picture of a baby on the tube. 声が 聞きたかったよ — you confess on the
phone — I’ve wanted to hear your voice. When I arrive, you’ll insist, that I
haven't changed a bit. Kuchi ga umai desu ne — your lips are very sweet — I’ll
say. You’ll be amazed by my brilliant Japanese. Swear I am just as cute as ever.
Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana's collection, Sing me down from the dark (SALT; 2022) is in its 3rd issue. Her work has appeared in The North, P.N. Review and Poetry Wales, and online in Anthropocene, The Interpreter's House and The Madrid Review.
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