As soon as we disperse from our teacher,

I’m drawn to the water.

A wave passes through the shallow pool,

so serene and quiet.

Another wave ripples through the water,

suddenly books about Japanese-American families

being forced to leave their homes,

sell their stuff,

shipped off

like cargo to a camp,

flood my mind.

Another wave,

I stare at the crane,

frozen,

a crane that has two heads battling

two realities,

a Japanese past and an American future.

A crane that has one wing up and one wing down,

one wing broken and one wing perfect.

Stories of a child seep into my thoughts

whose life was forever changed

swept up in the violence

that swells alongside prejudice.

Another wave.

It used to be so serene and quiet,

yet still no one speaks.