Naoko Fujimoto

First Marriage As If

My first marriage is killing itself, but
it is not my fault. Slowly whiskey
evaporates
behind the couch. I commit plates, so
if I bring a box of brown rice to the table, if
I pray,          if I overdose on painkillers,
do you still lie on the cushion?
You watch TV and the cat in turns;
“I am aware of my cocoon period, honey.” I know
you walk at 3:00am to find the recycling can.

---

Trainride to Another

It is not hard to lose a map,
even though she stitches me one
from the station to home
 
on my left kneecap. She eats
a cookie on her father’s thigh in a train.
The crumbs disappear
 
after three stations. Her father tucks
in her hair like a bead curtain, like her red sari—    
it bandages her legs. She carries

dirt from a truck to the railroad during summer.
She stirs a bottle of lemon dregs and plays an accordion
one corner past the busiest station, so I

listen to it for two blocks
while tasting coffee grounds. I have not
lost my location yet— aging for sure, the window shows

my sunken cheeks. If I disappear into another
dimension, I look through an aperture and tell her,
“I am a patient.”

(cancer perhaps) Her strawberry
ice-cream melts,
drips on her shoes in a gentle gradient.




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Naoko Fujimoto was born and raised in Nagoya, Japan. Her first chapbook, “Home, No Home”, won the annual Oro Fino Chapbook Competition by Educe Press. Another short collection, “Silver Seasons of Heartache,” was recently released by Glass Lyre Press. She is working on her graphic poetry collection, which will be published by Tupelo Press.