Esaku Kondo

(Bloomfield Hills, Michigan)

The Persimmon Tree

When the persimmon's mellow sweetness permeates into my tongue,
Capillary vessels carry my mind back to Japan's cozy childhood:
An aged giant persimmon tree thickly covered with foliage
Hugged a black tile roof house I was born under the shadow.
While my mother retailed tobaccos, charcoals, stick incenses,
My father commuted on foot to a mountain school for teaching.

When the persimmon's greenish tannin benumbs over my tongue,
Alert signal drives me to indulge in the hard old d

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