To Rento Yukiguni

A small place, two six-tatami mat rooms, a kitchen, a tiny toilet, a small bath. My first place in Urasa. The kind of place where you say, “Well, you really have done a lot with this place!”, and then laugh. A view of the mountains to the east, a side view toward the south, a screened window over the kitchen sink, a small window west. There were women sometimes and lots of beer, and many phone calls from Marc, to talk about work, mostly. Rumiko moved in and brought her things, a huge chest of drawers, a Sony 19-inch Trinitron, and bookshelves. We moved out after I’d been there for nine years. I missed racing to school from you, missed the jogs around the rice fields near you, missed walking into old Urasa for groceries. You’re still there, but the area has changed, with needless construction of a new bridge, a bypass, a winery, an empty museum, less green and much more grey of concrete. But, I’m getting away from you now. I did that once before. I don’t want to do it again.