Poems by Ann Inoshita
Author’s Questions for Discussion:
As a writer, I have written some poems that are political. When you write, do you have limits on the content of your poems/stories? What is your preferred tone when writing a political work (comical/angry/etc.)?
There are times when every writer encounters writer’s block. What is your remedy for writer’s block?
Stereotype
I no like be da stereotype Japanese teacha
who no like undastand da local student
or da high maka maka Japanese manager
who expect everybody fo work extra hard
or da overachievas who tink dey mo betta than everybody else.
As not me, man.
Even get da Asian women stereotype.
Like dey suppose to be all exotic and submissive.
I neva know dat some guys like Asian women
until I wen go on one plane to da mainland
and had some guys talking to me like I no undastand English.
No can be my Pidgin. I neva say nothing yet.
Dey talk slow and smile pleny
like dey flirting with me or someting.
Dey so much older than me.
Someting wrong wit dem.
Dey tell me how dey was going meet some women
but it neva work out.
Yeah, like dey really get chance with me.
Forget it.
I was looking outside da window,
and dey no catch da hint dat I no like talk to dem.
So dey talk and talk and talk.
Wen dinner came, one of da guys wen hold one bun up to my face
like I neva see one dinner roll befo. Get real.
Afta dinner, I wen put da blanket ova my head
and my friend next to me wen do da same ting too.
Must be we wen shock da guys. I wen hea some gasping
wen we was unda da blankets.
Eh, maybe we going start one new stereotype.
Asian women who like go sleep wit blankets ova dea heads.
On the Way Home
The day was quiet
except for the wind.
She kept walking
watching the tree
branches in the sun.
She did not know
she was dead.
She ran through
the weeds
and water walls.
Kissing forget-me-nots
on the way home.
Roses
When I sleep, I dream
I am alone in empty fields.
Men have gone and tools have been returned.
Sheltered from light rain,
I remain looking at cut roses.
Perfect roses that will be sold,
and lesser roses that will be discarded.
My hands dig into soil.
I remove and hide roses.
The roses will be safe
in my garden behind the weeds.
Zebra Dove
I never saw a dove lie
so flat on the cement floor
checking its feathers
in the sun
extending a wing
all the way
to the other side
feathers
underneath
exposed
then lie tilted
unnoticed
as students passed by.
After three minutes,
the dove stood up,
and I saw a limb
with no toes.
The zebra dove trusts
and lives.
I close my eyes
wanting to dissolve
myself into everything.
No Can Sleep
I no can sleep, so I start writing.
I write about any kine stuffs.
Sometimes I no can sleep, and I no can write.
I just stare at da ceiling.
My head feel so heavy, but
I no can let go and go back sleep.
Wen dis happen hard fo function next day.
Even hard fo take nap.
Gunfunit, I gotta get some sleep.
I wen talk to my friend,
and she tell me no drink so much coffee.
I tell her I neva drink coffee last night.
I just no can sleep. Maybe I tinking too much.
Maybe I worry too much,
but not like I get stuff fo worry about.
Everyting ok so far.
She ask me wat I tinking about,
and I tell her I always tinking about writing.
Den she say no worry about writing.
I ask her wat if I no mo nothing else fo say?
Wat if I dry up and no can write?
She look at me and tell me,
No worry. You always going get someting fo say.
Da world not dat good.
© Ann Inoshita
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You’re currently reading “Poems by Ann Inoshita,” an entry on Vice-Versa
- Published:
- 10/18/2009 / 8:28 am
- Category:
- Poetry
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