Kimiko's Doll

“She looks like she’s in pain.” Is what I said 

The first time I saw her photograph. 

My aunt, who had brought the picture 

With her from Japan, laughed in agreement. 

The lady in the picture was Kimiko, 

My grandfather’s second wife. My aunt 

Had only just met her. He had married her 

After he returned to Japan, after my grandmother 

Had died, after he realized that he still needed 

A woman to serve his tea hot and mend the socks 

 He wore out walking to his fishing spot 

Every day. When unusually persistent rains 

Kept him from fishing all winter, He died. 

Kimiko died soon after him due 

To the meaningless she then confronted, 

But not before I met her when I was in Kebara 

To say my first farewells to my ancestry. 

She would not let me go that easily. 

She gave me an elaborate doll, a geisha, 

That must have cost half her monthly income. 

The doll holds a warrior’s helmet, as if readying 

To place it over a samurai’s top-knot, 

Perhaps the same way that Kimiko presented 

My grandfather’s tackle box each day 

Before he battled the fish. I can imagine 

Her chopping off the heads of the fish 

For the evening meal, musing over what 

It might have been like for her male ancestors 

To ride over rivers toward war, leaving her 

Grandmother’s mother behind to tend dolls. 

I have kept that doll, now in my daughter’s 

Room. Jamie likes it, even though Kimiko died

Twenty years before she was born. It tells 

Her that her female ancestors were warriors 

At heart and that she has every reason to be the same.