001⋮wakahisa masako █002⋮garden █003⋮kigo
Simply because you wrote it in Japanese, doesn’t make it a genuine Haiku. It was bizarre how many ex-patriot foreigners tried to make it big on the writing scene in Japan. Most of the time, they stuck to their shallow misshapen manga but even still – Shizan was attuned to finding where white people just changed their names. Not that it was particularly hard – most of them didn’t really make the effort to hide it as they wrote out their names phonetically as opposed to in the proper kanji form. Furthermore, they were sent using improper kigo, completely missing the correct terminology. Even the ones that were about nature and seasons used they would relate a summer moon, or spring lilies.
Shizan always turned those down with notations that they should study the craft more. It was infuriating at first, but after a year and a half, Shizan had found it becoming tiresome. Every flash of anger she would’ve had melted away into disinterest and disgust. It seemed more like, maybe, her father’s world was real. That foreigners crashed onto our beaches and decided to destroy the essential pieces of our culture. Even the delicate arts, which they tried to hold onto with over extended fingers, were cast aside. The English could retain their sonnets, at it’s core beauty, but if the Japanese desired to maintain the haiku – it was an oppression of the people.
Despite having been busy in her own mind, Shizan was hardly an oblivious person. At lunch, and also now, she felt eyes (or perhaps eye?) burrowing into her back. She wondered if Wakahisa thought that she wouldn’t notice such heated stares, or that she wouldn’t be able to tell they often conveniently arrived in the same places. She didn’t really mind beautiful women following her, particularly, but it made it somewhat difficult to distance herself. Shizan preferred people at arms length. If a woman was interested in seeking her out, it was hard to say no, even if she wanted to.
For the moment, however, silence. The situation wasn’t exactly ideal. She guessed Wakahisa really didn’t think she’d be able to tell whenever they were in the same place. If they had spoken briefly at the restaurant, it would be less tedious to ignore her, but now it seemed like gravity had increased It’s weight. She worked, quietly, and tried not to feel the pressure of her not-entirely-unwelcome follower. Fate had other ideas than the unwitting silence, she supposed, as a cool summer breeze broke through. Shizan had weighted her papers down with the worked memorial stone Shishio had given her in memory of their father, but others did not maintain such care. A loose piece of paper flew past her, not even a foot or more, followed by her guest tripping onto the floor.
What kind of scene was this?
Wakahisa missed the paper, but it hadn’t missed her. Slipping between her hands, it settled on her back, like some fancy dish of fate. Was it hers to take? Shizan assumed so, as if there were anyone else out in the garden, they had not made themselves known. With care, she plucked the paper up from Wakahisa’s back. It was probably improper to read someone else’s work, but Shizan’s eyes had grown cross with reading so many poems that it happened before she could think not to.
“Oh,” A mild surprise left her lips, Shizan leaned back into her chair to read it more closely. “This is very good.”
Shizan was the last person on the earth to wantonly hand out compliments. Even to her, she was dumbstruck at letting it leave her lips. If she hadn’t, though, it would’ve been a lie. There was the well thought construction – the shortness of the phrases, combined with the proper kigo use. The combination of the hiragana, katakana and kanji was appropriately done, as if to imply one’s mastery of the language. It was remarkably well done, honestly. She turned the paper over to read what was written on the other side. It seemed the level of skill was consistent.
Goddamn, how was she supposed to ignore a woman with this kind of skill? With her mouth closed, she bit her tongue in annoyance. Shizan wanted nothing to do with the people here – it was just so much easier. But, how could she not get involved? It was like staring at a massive chunk of unpressed diamond, knowing that effort would make something you wouldn’t ever regret.
“Wakahisa Masako, right? Sit down.” Shizan didn’t care to waste time in any facet of her life. While she waited, she looked over the work again. Sliding out a thin pile of red marked papers, rejects, she slid them over to the other woman. “I work for Hokuya Publishing, and right now, I’m compiling and editing for a poetry anthology. As you can see, I’m low on talent.”
She set the loose paper down on the table, opposite of the rejects and slid them over.
“Would you be interested in submitting something?”