Tofu

By Hiromitsu Koiso

In the supermarket aisle I held a pack of tofu. The tofu was unquestionably white and uncomplaining. We eyed each other up. Through its transparent plastic sheet, the soybeans that had been turned to tofu were still palpable. I thought I would make something with tofu for supper today or tomorrow. Hi, I said to the cashier. Hi, she replied. We tried not to confirm we remembered each other’s names. I decided to make miso soup with tofu and leek later. I stepped back to find a stick of leek. Hi, I said again to the cashier. Hi, she replied. We tried not to confirm we remembered each other’s names.

In my kitchen, I put the tofu on my palm and pressed it through with a kitchen knife. Vertically. Horizontally.

 

O my miso soup

people do things

absent-mindedly

© 2021 harana poetry

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