Four in the morning
but still afternoon in L.A.
I'm restless under silk covers.
Are you awake? I ask.
Henry presses against me with a steady breath,
and I am no longer
Sofia the Great
Sofia the Single.
In sudden urge,
I slide on slippers,
leave the hotel room.
I do.
Dim slits of sunlight outline tower concrete,
disillusioned lamp lights begin
to fade on the boulevard,
in the terminal that connects this
hotel to the airport.
I want to see Godzilla -
A shuddering beast never captured to breed for one -
rise out of the Pacific,
sending tidal waves through Osaka
with a single footstep.
Stomp... and swiftly this land will slip underwater.
Six in the morning.
I am glued to the arrival schedule
where there is no trainman blowing whistles.
Electric eel glides into the station,
buzzing doors click open,
youthful creatures slide out.
I want to draw them,
A pencil layer for the girl with colored hair
and blowing ribbons swinging from her cherry dress.
A black felt-tip marker to trace along the fragile
jaw line of the man with skinny tie centered
and folded,
with business suit for business day.
They must arrive every day
from this bullet-train.
A rush,
a surge of human traffic darting out,
and I want to draw them all.
Henry is waiting with unkempt hair by the terminal.
Is it alright if I stay a little longer? I ask and
look down dust-covered slippers.
He stares and shakes his head -
a swivel of haystack hair glimmering in the sunlight -
and I am no longer Sofia the Great,
Sofia the Single.