Poems by Ayane Kawata
Ayane Kawata
1, Stripes
In an apartment I try to get together with someone I met on the airplane. The
body of this young man is completely covered in oily stripes, he is sticky,
and I am afraid he will rub off on me.
2, Falling apart
Repeatedly, something falls apart. I have only the realization that I accept
that ‘this is how things fall apart,’ but there is nothing to see.
Its concrete texture has flowed past and disappeared.
3,Ability to take action
A man places his hand on my tense, frozen back, and inspects it, saying ‘On
a scale of large, medium and small, your ability to take action is small.’
4,On the grass
Suddenly, a farmer-like man grabs me on the grass and with a very serious expression
kisses my ankles with his nose. ‘With your mouth,’ I say, but he
replies solemnly, ‘It must be with my nose.’ He is the offender,
after all, so I give up and leave it up to him, until something like rapture
wells up in me and I shiver, at which point the man nods as if to say ‘yes,’
in confirmation. He reminds me of someone, maybe the milkman.
5,Travel scene
I go on a trip, and take in the sight of a dead person’s bedding being
slid one by one down the corridor of a tall tree and shoved down below. A strange
resonance lingers in my ears. Later, there is nowhere for me to spend the night.
6,Eyelids peeled
From down the corridor a banker or a stage actor, a man I think I’ve
seen before, approaches. I am thinking that his glowing smile means that he
wants to touch me, when suddenly, standing there, the man peels back both my
eyelids and checks me out. I grow cold to him after that and nothing happens.
