Trigger Warning: Mentions violence and sexual assault.
. . .
The last time I saw you,
You were on my Twitter feed.
I thought someone found my mom’s
Face
Like some Tinder guy had an Asian fetish and
DMed me for “pics.”
I tried to blur out your legs, bloody legs
Or how many lightbulbs Hiroshi boy tried
To shove into you.
No, you said.
Revenge, Hiroshi boy heard.
His friends burned a trail from
The tip of your clitoris to your pupils
Before you had a plan to escape.
I just blocked my classmate from high school
On Instagram, praying he won’t find me again.
I could’ve met your daughter.
She would’ve had your tongue,
Marching through the streets of Kyoto
In the #MeToo movement
As that Hiroshi boy hid behind the deep corners
Of the alleyway
And your daughter grabs him by the collar
Like he did when he dragged you from
That street you biked pass every day
Making him see the scars he marked on her mother
On women with your face,
Junko,
Your face has imprinted on my timeline.
When I close my eyes,
I picture you in that uniform you wore
In your school photo.
The last time you were happy.
If only you were here.
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