the specimen of unknown sex and origin
will terrorize the citizens of Yamaguchi Prefecture no longer—
I can stop barricading my windows
and will open the door to the garden

Nobody knows why or from where it came from:
we are safely locked in by the mountains
Who was it looking for, why was it aiming
to attack only children and feeble old ladies?
The first day, it scratched hands feet and buttocks
of four individuals, including a 70-year-old woman
and a 10-year-old boy. The next day,
the monkey’s toll rose to 38 grandmas and preschoolers,
and by the end of July the victim count had risen to
58 wounded Yamaguchi residents, including a newborn baby
It was lying peacefully in its crib, cooing, and
staring into the abyss the world was unfolding on the ceiling:
Suddenly, the monkey burst through
the lacy net of the mosquito curtain
and reached with his spindly paws for the bundled infant
Luckily, the mother walked in
and chased away the monkey with an umbrella

Local newspapers, bored by the summer hiatus,
reveled in the delightful topic:
“it operates in a one-kilometer square”
“it attacks only after eye contact”
“it appears out of nothing
and disappears into nowhere
like the Cat from Cheshire”

It is mercifully mild, the sweet smell of roses
wafts into my open window
I am a little sad that story has ended,
even though I could have been the target
as I celebrate my eighty fifth birthday here,
far away from the land of Lewis Carroll and my family’s tombstones

Lady Banks rose visits through the open window,
soft yellow petals, deep smell, reliable bloomer:
my compatriot, I trust you would have shielded me
from the jaws that bite, claws that catch, eyes flaming

Beyond the mountains, in Ogi Prefecture
this type of monkey is revered, held sacred;
its name, Masaru, means “spirits are departing”

The violin is playing on my turntable,
Zigeunerweisen, Gypsy Airs, Sarasate
The sound is deep and musky, scent of passion,
the bow is scratching on my heart
Or is it you, my monkey, my Masaru,
have you come back to claim me?