Black-haired Ulysses

The poet walks on

Skin wrapped in plaster
Nails painted blue

Just now — on her shoulders, returned from the hunt
A zebra freshly shot
Its white belly exposed, limp

She glared at the people swarming around her kill
Then recited “Oh Venezuela,”
Written in tears, she said, with ink
Made from the black, dark rain that fell on Venezuela,
With some moaning

“Live as saint and as profane.
I am a saint. I am a libertine.
To be only one is to be false.”

The floating words
Circled once, three meters above her head
Then quietly, in a straight line
Returned to the coiled scroll of paper

A mud-stained saint
A luminous libertine

Jingling the bells that swing from her red hat
The poet walks on

Her right hand raised, wet with the blood of friends fallen in war
The poet walks on

In long strides
The poet walks on

Poem written by Saori

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This poem is dedicated to Kazuko Shiraishi, who passed away on 14 June 2024.

I started writing poetry through her words.
She was my beginning, and my greatest source of inspiration.

Thank you for giving me advice on my poems and for telling me to keep writing.

Please rest in peace.

Saori