― Can’t you sleep? ―
Someonewhispers at my bedside.
I brewcoffee in the kitchen. Caffeine is said to stimulate sympathetic nerves, butit’s a fragrance of serenity for me. I open the window above the gas range, thecold air that make me feel the sign of autumn comes in. Invoices piled up onthe kitchen table are taken away by the wind and fall on the floor.
― It’s apostcard. ―
Someonepicks it up from the broken chair of the backrest.
― Fromyour girl? ―
It is asummer greeting from an old friend. There is her portrait wearing a swimsuitcoloured brightly like sunset. It is annotated with “At the hotel inKaruizawa”. We were out of communication for a long time and I have beenmoving several times, so the postcard from her is a miracle. Looking closely,it says that her mother died in last autumn. “I became an orphan”. Weare all alone from birth to death. Don’t’ you think so? I talk to myself. Shewas always traveling somewhere. Just the mate of creative writing. That’s all.At the college, aspiring artists exchanged the made-up stories, we lived infictional stories as our world. Therefore, I do not know her true figure. Shedo not know me too.
I step outonto the balcony and smoke. I can see an incandescent nightlight of the fifthfloor on the high-rise apartment blinking in the distance. It looks like amayfly which is struggling to become imago from chrysalis. It darkens toepilogue of life once, but it flaps with weakly small white flashes again.
― Do youthink the light bulb will burn out before you ended smoking? ―
Someonelaughs behind me.
― Maybe itwill be fine until dawn. It will melt into sunlight with sunrise. ―
Suddenly Ilisten to the Frank Sinatra’s song from under the balcony. The window at thesecond floor of an ophthalmological clinic in front of my apartment is opening.Doctor’s favorite is Strangers in The Night. Frank Sinatra is singing supplelybetween the running sound of the night delivery trucks.
Strangers in the night, two lonelypeople
We were strangers in the night
Up to the moment when we said ourfirst hello
― Hello! ―
Someonetalks to the eyeballs which are on the signboard of ophthalmological clinic.The eyeballs are winking.
Lovers at first sight
In love forever
It turned out so right
For strangers in the night
― Are youcrying? ―
Someoneasks to the eyeballs of the signboard. The raindrops left by the shower arefalling from the eyeballs.
Love was just a glance away, a warmembracing dance away
Hiromi suzuki is a poet, artist living in Tokyo, Japan. The author of Ms. cried, 77 poems by hiromi suzuki (kisaragi publishing, 2013), logbook (Hesterglock Press, 2018) and INVISIBLE SCENERY (Low Frequency Press, 2018). Her works are published internationally in Otoliths, BlazeVOX, Empty Mirror, Hotel, Burning House Press, DATABLEED, MOONCHILD MAGAZINE, Hotel, talking about strawberries all of the time, Mookychick, Coldfront, and 3:AM Magazine. More work can be found at hiromisuzukimicrojournal.tumblr.com.
*Quotation: Strangers in the Night
Song by Frank Sinatra, 1966
Lyrics by Charles Singleton and Eddie Snyder
Music by Bert Kaempfert
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