By: Mayumi Yamamoto

No Chance

Shall I tell you about the one
who came before you?

She enjoyed a carefree life,
and used to ramble around
the house with abandon,
never felt the need to be
on guard.

She’d curl up and sleep
wherever she loved.

Sometimes, she lay
flat on her back,
with paws extended,
and belly exposed.

She was often oblivious
even when I got near her.

I sometimes walked past
absent-mindedly
and failed to notice her presence.

And that was the moment
I stumbled over her
by chance.

It was another chance
for me to apologize for striking her
inadvertently,
and for her to forgive me.

I turned around quickly,
with an effusive apology over a fault,
and she absolved me silently,
as if nothing had happened.

But there is no chance
to commit such a fault
against you,
since you are always so vigilant,
and aware of your surroundings.

You constantly maintain a distance
between us—
unless you permit me to touch you,
or you come closer to me
purposely.

My foot would never intrude
into your sacred space.

Kuh, give me the chance
to apologize to you
because I want to know
if you’ll forgive me
when I bump you unintentionally.

Sleeping position

It’s a beautiful sunny day.

Sunlight pours from the balcony
and into my bedroom, suffusing it
with a golden glow.

My bed bathes in sunlight
that overflows and spills
onto the floor beneath it.

Sunlight streams
and warms your entire body.

You sleep prone with your left arm
folded, a pillow under your head,
and your right arm stretches out
towards the sliding glass doors
along the balcony.

And your lower back
remains under the bed.

That scene unveils
your conflicting desires:
staying invisible versus
coming out in the room.

But I can see you whole
from where I stand
across the living room.

I long for the day
you’ll sprawl languidly
on the bed,
like my late beloved one.

Ritual

On the 20th of October
you climbed onto my bed
for the first time.

First, you arch your back downward,
slowly splay your limbs
and stretch them out.

Then, you knead the blanket
with your paws, press-and-release
rhythmically.

You turn your body sideways,
rub your head against the sheets
to leave your scent.

Suddenly, you pause and ponder.

You notice me watching you
from across the living room
but are unfazed and show
no sign of embarrassment.

There is a comfortable distance
between us.

I keep my eyes on you, but you just playfully
flop onto your side again to resume your frolic,
in such a manner as to impress me
with your newfound territory.

And you sniff.
Whose scent do you seek:
yours or mine?

Exultant upon your newly-acquired property,
you strut and saunter all over the bed.
Soon you conclude your ritual,
and calmly descend.

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Mayumi Yamamoto is a writer and academic based in Kyoto, Japan. Her writings appeared in Literary Yard, Tint Journal, The Space Ink, The Wise Owl, Shot Glass Journal, Spillwords and others. She authored several published books in Japanese.