Traveler’s Guilt
The world is warring and I’m taking a trip to “find myself”
I lean back in the seat of my train and watch the scenery change from cityscapes to countryside
while a father is traveling on foot
shouldering the weight of his household on his back
rushing to cross the border
I pick at my evening kaiseki meal because I’m so full of delicate dumpling skins wrapped around
pieces of crab, and soy-marinated salmon, and crunchy pieces of tempura, and steamed sea bass
swimming in broth, and thinly sliced pieces of lightly seared beef
while a child hasn’t had food for days
and is scavenging to feed their siblings
amidst the growing lack of resources
I soak in the embrace of the opaque, milk-white water of our onsen at night, finding solace in the
warmth permeating my senses
while a mother hasn’t had enough to wash the dishes
let alone bathe or quench the thirst of her children
who haven’t had clean water for weeks
I post pictures of autumn foliage covering the mountainside and of colorful temples and of
shrines that are centuries old
while someone is sharing pictures of babies’ limbs
and blown-up buildings and faces twisted
at the loss of families and homes and lives
I feel twinges of guilt while others feel soul-shattering grief that goes beyond words
The world is warring and I’m sitting here
writing a poem about a trip that I took
I am alive
I am ashamed