Poem by Derek N. Otsuji

May 15, 2023


And with a puff the dandelion clock
	released its silver tufted fist of seeds,
the winged minutes lifted by a boy’s wish.
	Across the lawn’s green hours they dispersed,
a scattered flock—no, a lofty airborne
	force of paratroopers softly storming
the innocent grass. A late sun ray picked
	a drifting filament now blown afield
and the boy’s eye followed as it rose, sailed
	then slowly sank from view, and with its grieved
extinguishing released a sigh—the ball
	blasted, the seconds flown. At night
 awake still, he waits for the return, when
	boots on the porch steps come thundering home.

About Derek N. Otsuji

Derek N. Otsuji is the author of The Kitchen of Small Hours (SIU Press, 2021), featured in Honolulu Magazine’s “Essential Hawaii Books You Should Read.” Recent work has appeared in 32 Poems, The Southern Review, and The Threepenny Review.

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