From Reverberations From Fukushima: 50 Japanese Poets Speak Out
by Shizuka Kawana
I place the frying pan on the fire, grease it,
and put in some cherry tomatoes.
Their skin peals off crisply.
Red flesh is exposed.
Oil soaks in steadily.
Sauce seeps in gradually.
They look hurt.
The skin of hibakusha peels off,
dangling from their red flesh.
Their lymph oozes out; they feel thirsty.
On that day, human beings were burned like tomatoes.
The burned tomatoes ran around in disarray
on white feet
as a result of the devil’s toy.