Sunday, August 7, 2011
Day 341
2:30 pm
–
Tanko Bushi
–
Summer yukata, popsicle-stained tongues,
grilled corn and teriyaki chicken punctuate
the air,
smooth soles of slippers toughening up
against the asphalt,
From a firm stance above our heads
to a forgiving recline that reaches
toward the water,
the sun begins treading the sky
to open the dancing to the moon
The sets represent their position,
dressed in the correct shade of their
Temple’s happi coat color
Generations encircle each other,
one ring, then another and yet another,
covering the street with paper fans,
kachi kachi, laughter, and
grace
Crackling cassette tape recording
of old records mix with the boom of
the odaiko as the flute signals with
its first whistle, and we begin
Reorientation of last year’s ritual
with songs we’ve
danced to our whole lives, missing a
step or a waving motion, giggles
circulate and we look around for
the nice kimono that knows every step
We travel through time and get lost
in the harvest, the washing of
rice, the netting of fish in the sea,
the modern leaps and twirls of
the 1+1 where the kids take their
turn at being experts of odori
We arrive at the coal mines and the
stalwart tradition of Tanko Bushi,
I get lost once more,
in the work at the
hands of our ancestors
and why this song was my grandpa’s
favorite dance
How hard he struggled to grow three
generations of farm and nursery,
the years so long you could see row
upon row of soil sowed deep into
the palm of his hand
Fingernails thick as the rocks they raked,
forehead leathery brown from the sun,
beard as silver as the moon he met
with every night to share his sake
His history urges me to dance with
them, all the spirits,
to toast them with my waving hands,
to embrace them as I net the fish,
to let them know life continues as
we twirl and laugh,
to remember them as we sway in
their footsteps,
because of their footsteps
–
–
tkk
–
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