This month’s theme is derived directly from the first poem here from Patrick Shiroishi, a dynamic multidisciplinary artist and musician based here in Los Angeles—who I had the privilege of meeting at our recent celebration of The Gate of Memory anthology (eds. Brynn Saito and Brandon Shimoda). Patrick and his work, memories and ancestors are “diminishing for no one” and his poetry here carries us through the ways we remember, make declarations of being in this continuum, and dare to dream up the seeds in need of planting. Thank you, Patrick, for your art. Enjoy…
—traci kato-kiriyama
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Patrick Shiroishi is a Japanese-American multi-instrumentalist, composer & poet based in Los Angeles who is perhaps best known for his extensive & incredibly intense work with the saxophone. Over the last decade he has established himself as one of the premier improvising musicians in Los Angeles, playing solo & in numerous collaborative projects. He has presented work & performed at the Museum of Contemporary Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Natural History Museum, the Broad Museum, commissioned by the LA Philharmonic & has toured around the world in various solo and band configurations including The Armed & contemporary classical ensemble Wild Up. He has a poem included in a collection of Japanese American poets, Gate of Memory, published by Haymarket Books.
七
even with absence, my body still remembers
my grandfather’s grief
& my grandmother’s hope
when you lose something, you never forget
so we cry out like cicadas in the summer
for everyone to hear
diminishing for no one
I look ahead to a world my children can better
with my father’s anxiety
& my 母’s love
Kaki
my grandfather planted the seed
on a warm spring day
the ground smelled of purpose & daydreams
a hymn escaped his lips
as he laid her down
her final resting place carefully chosen
an offering to the land
& a declaration that his family
will grow old here
a mirror over his shoulder
so he could only look towards the future
breathing with shimmer & a lighter heart
& for a second he is free.
free from the past, the harsh noise,
free to swim violently if he wanted
or simply, like glass. double paned
to block out the sounds of the barracks.
not having to be a witness anymore.
just being a son, a man, was enough.
a jap wouldn’t have to dream minimalist
& colors were a little more vivid with every blink
but he blinked
& awoke.
Look over here
I felt a cold breath on my ear
when I turned around I saw a yokai with cherry blossom skin
& accordion arms. it had the face of my cousin
except he was smiling. it’s legs look crooked
but it was only standing on falling tiny bodies
which side are you on? it grinned
I’ve been on the same side since I can remember
the past thirty eight years of my life
have been a slow riot for everyone to be free
the punks were right all along
don’t turn away now
the worst of it might be over, you smile
a white lie can act as brightness too, you know
so I write in the evening yearning
for that light, but when the sun
comes up my words are empty
what’s a poem worth
when a hurricane hits my friends
& bombs fall on children
but I lug my pencil to paper anyway
so many lives disappeared
but they are not alone
we’ve been there before
we’ve been here before
look at what the dark did now
*These poems are copyrighted by Patrick Shiroishi (2025).
© 2025 Patrick Shiroishi