Shadow Body

(Spirited Away, 2001)

At ten you first saw your father and mother replaced
by pigs. Big backs rounding, swelling, slippery
with indifference. Your voice rose higher
and keener. Night was coming.

You had to sleep on the floor.
You washed innumerable tubs of filth.
Unknowing, you let the shadow body in
at the white latticed window;

it devoured everyone else
in search of you. Pursued by birds, blades,
paper planes, your eyes drop to the pill
in your hand, gift from the river spirit.

You are ready. You beckon to the shadow
who walks alongside, grunts wordless.
When you get out of this,
your parents won’t know they have been rescued.

The ticket is precious.
The train only goes one way.