Sun Flowers my mother was a painter, my father a poet, I danced into life... I have a painting in the kitchen Sunflowers unsigned, undated, said to be my mother's the flowers are big bold free unlike her style yet Auntie says... "for sure, it's your mother's" I stare into their bright yellowness Four Bright Suns in a blue vase makes me smile I was twelve when Mom left Dad and I a young poet-man lured her far away 1960--a brave choice back then before she died she told me she regretted her decision... the sun flowers tell a different story Genie Nakano, December 2, 2019
once I watched an ant crawling the mountains bottom it started to run half its legs on the ground in an alternating tripod gait with quantum steps my eyes followed mind took me to the summit there I wanted to be but wind blew me away down the other side breathing in breathing out I follow my breath on a lavender path where I can see below above and around breathing in breathing out ants are tickling my feet carrying morsels flowers and thyme I can hear their feet as I hear them say "we bring food to the colony an afterthought party will follow" am I invited "yes, if you help out" so, I follow them back to the bottom the sugar is in my pocket I've humbled down knowing the other side breathing in breathing out breathing in breathing out Genie Nakano
This is a one act scene written for a Zoom acting class I am taking on line. This is new for me. However, since I'm at home quarantined -- why not try something different. The characters are an elderly couple quarantined during the pandemic. I am revising as I go along and this is my 1st revision. I added more dialog. If anyone read the first attempt, please tell me what you think. Please feel free to give suggestions. Revised—Ride. May 4th, 2020) Ride---by: Genie Nakano, (520 words, April 29, 2020) Husband: I’m going to take Toru for a ride in the “41, Chevy. I’ll be back in an hour. Wife: What you’re going to sit in a car with him? Husband: He likes vintage cars and I wanted to show him the ‘41. Wife: But you don’t know him very well. Husband: What, he’s a nice guy and he’s married to Mariko the secretary at the temple. He’s neat, tidy and safe. Wife: But he’s young. He may be a carrier. Husband: He’s 47!! Wife: That’s young for us--our daughters age. You’re crazy! Putting yourself at risk. You only have one lung. Husband: You always exaggerate. I hate that about you. You should have been an actress. I have two lungs and one is compensated by the car accident. And what about you-- you talk to Rosie every day. Wife: Yes, but we’re outside and walking at least 10 feet away from each other. We're not in a fucking car breathing in the same cramped-up air. Derek, our doctor son, told you if you get on a ventilator you are dead. I’m going to call Derek. Husband: No, no you don’t. He’s on the front lines right now, no sleep, exhausted--he doesn’t need any more stress. Wife: Can’t you just follow the rules for once. Why be so reckless and selfish. Husband: You’re the one who’s being selfish. Do you have to tell the whole Japanese community our business? Wife: Everyone is trying to help you out. My brother is working overtime just to keep us safe. And for what? He doesn’t even get to sleep with his wife because he wants to protect her because HE cares about her. Husband: Oh no, here we go again. I care about you—I care about you! Christ what do you think I’m stupid. I always wear a mask, wash my hands and… Wife: You might as well go back to work!! You just think this is a vacation. WE ARE QUARANTINED!! Husband: I don’t want to hear this! I’m getting out of here. Wife: Well, then go, go. I hope you die. And I hope I live. And I hope I find a younger man who doesn’t think cooking and gardening is for sissies, a man who likes to go grocery shopping with his wife and likes to smell roses. A man who can meditate and stay home for a day or two. What’s the matter are you afraid of yourself? Husband: I’m leaving. And I’m not going to die. (He slams the door. Gets into his vintage car starts it up--it rattles profusely.) Wife: (talking to herself in the house) I hate you. I hate you and when this pandemic is over, I’m leaving you. Wife’s emotions range from anger, frustration, fear, sorrow, anger,*!??!! Silence…10-15 minute passes…then…Husband returns. Husband: Come on let’s go for a ride. Wife:( her back faces husband). No, I’m not going to ride with Toru and you. Husband: (puts his hands on her shoulders) No, just you and me. Black out.
sunbathing in the afternoon the birds are belting out songs did they always sing so loud? even New Delhi's skies have a clear blue look this is what happens in quarantine... an afternoon fantasy starts to bubble where we go back in time five years is enough then we all know what we should do prepare the earth, clean it out vote Bernie and Liz so, the congress can progress and banks give out a thousand dollars a month to everyone then people willingly give up their guns all cows become sacred pigs forbidden to eat everyone grows a victory garden styles start to change to comfortable barefoot and natural colors start to pop from our gardens we catch the fruit as it falls sweet and ready to eat squeeze the juice plant new seeds unroll the day and harvest the sun genie nakano, April 27, 2020
Further, Farther and Beyond bright eyes lashes fluttering into mine time to play she says-- wake up no, you cannot sleep on puffy pillows we pretend to eat a feast savory and sweet calorie free for me eat it all and then plastic fruit knives, forks and spoons dish up colorful make believes everything smells tasty we’re on and over everything make it up as we go along I’m 72 she’s four no matter I can’t climb a tree nor run together we go further farther and beyond Genie Nakano, January 3, 2019
Meditation my organic medicine
I am writing because the blog lost the last five stanzas--sorry... Soshite Cold outside fingers cramp and freeze my age is showing like a fallen slip so... slap on the blush gloss the lips piggy bank more time I'm not ready for elderhood my heart is still a child my body is merely disobedient so... I will wear a hoodie of youth keep red riding hood Riding insecurities keep me young my mind is always changing indecision keeps me growing I like it that way which way do I turn Right Left I'm not sure So... let's keep going straight ahead follow the coyotes walking in the middle of our streets now we've banked time yellow lights turn to green uncross your fingers uncross your legs the clock is ticking to our pulse breathe inhale-exhale squeeze the stale air out backbend and open your heart So... forward bend balance go out of your head savasana on your feet open the window shades look see listen next moment tell me more 12/19/19 Photo: Genie Nakano a Mural in El Segundo, artist ?
A short Haibun below the video–“Guardian” which explains how these mudras worked to heal my Rheumatoid arthritis.
Gentle Yoga exercises and Mudras “Mohiniattam” for hands. Keep your hands supple, soft and strong.
In 2012, I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid arthritis. My hands were starting to be deformed. This is part of a haibun I wrote. I had a dream that told me to use these mudras to heal my RA. Here is a excerpt of the haibun:
Suddenly this week–11 years after his passing–my father is visiting my dreams. He doesn’t answer my question about afterlife. But in his usual black beret, he takes me to a house with a massive front yard–acres big. It needs watering–and together we decide it needs more trees.
Dad says in my dream
The next day I see acupuncturist #6 for the pain in my fingers. Looks like Rheumatoid Arthritis. I go home, sleep for 16 hour and dream.
I dream about my Mohiniattam dance teacher. She is sitting on a lotus doing the 24 “Mudras” of Mohiniatam. Dad walks into the “after party” with my cousin. The look happy, glowing and laughing as they walk. He looks at me and smiles.
The next day I go over the mudras neglected for years–yet my fingers remember.
my hands and fingers
open to mudras
memorized by heart
I did the mudras everyday and my hands healed. And as you can see they look normal.
Spillwords.com presents: Spotlight On Writers – Genie Nakano, for whom writing tanka is her passion, joy, therapy and confession.