Dark Parent
The ninja knows that the shadows provide the shelter you seek but recoil from, being beige, perhaps pastel, a target, actually …
knows that you will break cover because “sneak” and “lurk” are bad words to you …
knows you will streak into the sunlight where the brilliance will halo your dark form
because you are heavy and slow and human and do not love the void— your dark parent— the only thing that can shield you.
—Linda Watanabe McFerrin/Erin Orison
What Every Girl Should Know
A Ghost Reflects on the Ninja
A Ghost Reflects on the Ninja
That night when the frogs were singing, the nightingale floor went wild, its creak-tweet warning us of trouble in tabi afoot.
No one ignored it, but we were too slow. Assassins entered our bedrooms, ushering in death.
It is true their swords, like water, reflected the lanterns’ false moonlight, but we knew it was darkness that skewered us, our throats smiling in silence as the shadows leaked in and the frogs continued to sing.
—Linda Watanabe McFerrin/Erin Orison
Note: The “nightingale floor” in Nijo Castle was laid to guard against intrusion by suspicious and dangerous ninja assassins. Suspended above the frame with the aid of special iron clamps, the floor moved up and down over the fixing nails when walked upon, creating a sound similar to the song of a nightingale.
Witches
You who are young and not so plump, inedible really, like that boy, Hansel, who was so insolent— how could you not want to cage him and taunt him with the daily measurement? The chicken bone trick fooled no one. But you, the girl, showed promise: working away, resentful, bearing your secret grudge, using your wiles. Yes, the wiles make a witch. We do not want the dumb ones. You must count and remember and and never forget the good or the bad. You must keep it stored in a jar in a dark, quiet place, like your mind or the cabinet of memory. Shun us at your peril. We will turn you into one of us. This is no spell. It’s a promise. Yes, this is a promise.
—Linda Watanabe McFerrin/Erin Orison
This Sunset
Foot in Mouth
Shanghai, 2010
The chickens’ feet sit in a mountain like hands larger than an infant’s and shiny. My sister smiles on the other side of the pile. “You aren’t going to eat that,” she threatens. “I am,” I say, nibbling at the slick fat that wraps around the bony metatarsals. “To throw them out is a waste.”
I taste vinegar, the opposite of joy, imagine chickens going footless, to the market.
When I have eaten
two feet
my sister says,
“You wouldn’t eat calves’ balls
would you?”
I toy with one more chicken foot.
I feel like throwing up.
“Yeah,” I say.
—that’s why I love this girl—
” Wouldn’t you?”
—Linda Watanabe McFerrin/Erin Orison
Linda Watanabe McFerrin is a poet, travel writer, novelist and contributor to numerous newspapers, magazines and anthologies. She is the author of two poetry collections, past editor of a popular Northern California guidebook and a winner of the Katherine Anne Porter Prize for Fiction. Her novel, Namako: Sea Cucumber, was named Best Book for the Teen-Age by the New York Public Library. In addition to authoring an award-winning short story collection, The Hand of Buddha, she has co-edited twelve anthologies, including the Hot Flashes: sexy little stories & poems series. Her latest novel, Dead Love (Stone Bridge Press, 2009), was a Bram Stoker Award Finalist for Superior Achievement in a Novel.
Linda has judged the San Francisco Literary Awards, the Josephine Miles Award for Literary Excellence and the Kiriyama Prize, served as a visiting mentor for the Loft Mentor Series and been guest faculty at the Oklahoma Arts Institute. A past NEA Panelist and juror for the Marin Literary Arts Council and the founder of Left Coast Writers®, she has led workshops in Greece, France, Italy, England, Ireland, Central America, Indonesia, Spain and the United States and has mentored a long list of accomplished writers and best-selling authors toward publication http://lwmcferrin.com/