Kimiko Hahn Poems

things don't die or remain damaged
but return: stumps grow back hands,
a head reconnects to a neck,
a whole corpse rises blushing and newly elastic.
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After skimming the Sunday Times, Dad turned to the back of the magazine
and tore out the crossword puzzle for his mother in Wisconsin—
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"To find a connectome, or the mental makeup of a person,"
researchers experimented with the neurons of a worm
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Curious to see caverns,
we detoured in Tennessee
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I wish I knew the contents and I wish the contents
Japanese —
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I can't recall where to set the knife and spoon.
I can't recall which side to place the napkin

or which bread plate belongs to me. Or
how to engage in benign chatter.
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How to say milk? How to say sand, snow, sow,

linen, cloud, cocoon, or albino?
How to say page or canvas or rice balls?
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A map on tissue. A mass of wire. Electricity of the highest order.
Somewhere in this live tangle, scientists discovered—

like shipmates on the suddenly-round earth—
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Before doctors learn how it is that the brain's lights turn on, they may have to know a lot more about what's happening when the lights are off.
—Benedict Carey
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