the roof

I.
one summer, of many the only one
spent in its entirety
far from home

i stood on a rooftop
and in the humid iwakuni air
gazed out to the two apartment buildings
that were near enough to see me
backgrounded as they were
by the boulder strewn mountains

i wondered if anyone
was there,
pausing between clipping up
the laundry
perhaps spying me
between blouses of near identical color

a figure looking back

II.
in the streets on any given morning
picking up the butts
left over from last night's revel

-of the dirty-lunged lonely and red-faced
who'd spent the night recycling
memories of hopes
memories of believing in hope
at the karaoke bars
singing in tune in their own hearts
squeezing bloodshot eyes shut
so they wouldn't see that
no one was listening-

i picked up after them
my hinokishin
my daily devotion.

so many spent hours of smoke
to obscure the distance of time
cigarettes like so many yakuza pinkies
promises that were once inhaled sharply
only to be discarded
so much litter
to give me something to do.

III.
the heat of the evenings are the worse.

after evening service
and dinner with the church people
polite ignorance of
the way the younger girls
smile too long
or the eighty something year old
ba-chan coos over me

as if i were something good
an upright thing
in a world bowed and melting
beneath the heavy sun.

don't they know i'm just hiding?
laying in wait?

biding time to commit sins
with another disguised sinner
someone who pretended me into being
as i pretended her
long before this summer

and long after.