Spilling furikake
on radioactive shrimp,
we honor our grandmother,
the kaiju with arthritic arms.
Golden, tall as
rockets can get,
and with glints
of anger in her eyes,
she traveled overseas
from an old airport,
eager to stomp
on large pickup trucks.
No mortal army
could withstand
her moods, especially
the day before payday.
We became hunters
for our monster, love
and crispy dumplings
the only bait necessary.
In spring, when
the tornado siren yells,
I still hear her calling us
to inherit her wrath.
 |
K.M. Praschak‘s poetry collection Space Living came out in 2025. Her work has appeared in Strange Horizons and Star*Line. |
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