Nina Tagawa: Under the Shed
In the weeks when winter and spring are playing tug-of-war, morning rain can be expected. Some days I come home soaking wet, invariably displeased by the discomfort.
But also sometimes queerly glad of the few magical moments under the bridge where I pass to take a left turn.
That short stretch is my favorite part of the journey. Not only has it provided me with a reprieve from the elements, but also of the chance to get lost—even for just a breath of a moment—in a fantasy world. Years suddenly roll back to when I was a little girl, walking leisurely in the rain, stopping every so often to count the tiny droplets balancing on top of taro leaves.
Under the Shed
In the rain I will stay
under the shed where
cars go by, puddles splashing
memories flooding.
From under the shed
a quiet comfort and respite
busy faceless people passing by
eager to fly.
Time in a moment
an inaudible shriek, a loud honk
dark clouds parting
sunshine waiting.