All day I shred papers,
mumbling, something was lacking in life here-
reality in neighborhood, dreams in faraway places,
a week from today, I'll be moving.

Letters, old bills, check stubs from past employers
I've accrued over the last few years turn
into cross-cut shrouds to
let the traces of my stay pass-
        
it feels like exuviations
each time it happens.  It's like a new year-
the new painting job I'd seen of the new room
I'll be moving to in a week,

and I shred the old traces
of my life, while still without a choice
to pack a new one; if only memories were
as disposable as papers and not

a palimpsest with crossing marks.
                        I stumble down the stairs
with trash-bags full of shredded papers in both hands:
I bypass the recycle bin, to the garbage can.

Toshiaki Komura completed an MFA program at Cornell University in 2002; after teaching introductory creative writing courses for two years at Cornell as a lecturer. He is presently working toward a Ph.D. in English Literature at University of Michigan, focusing on modern poetry and poetics. His work has appeared in several publications, (Contemporary Rhyme, Offerings, Three Cup Morning, The Same, The Storyteller, Poetic Hours, among others), and his awards include Corson-Bishop Prize (2002) and Alexander Laing Memorial Prize (1998).

Email: Toshiaki Komura

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