This month calls back Minidoka survivor Lawrence Matsuda into the Nikkei Uncovered poetry column and has inspired me to begin, from time to time, presenting columns with poetry related directly to a singular site of incarceration. Mr. Matsuda’s poems on Minidoka come from the perspective as a child in the camps and, from tears to night terrors to indelible scars, this is poetry that is not is easy to take in…and I am grateful for what it reveals and insists we remember.
Are you a survivor or descendant of a particular site of incarceration with poetry you would like to submit for the Nikkei Uncovered poetry column? Please email us at Editor@DiscoverNikkei.org.
—traci kato-kiriyama
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Lawrence Matsuda was born in the Minidoka, Idaho Concentration Camp during World War II. He has a Ph.D. in education from the University of Washington. After retirement, he became a writer and educational consultant.
In 2010, A Cold Wind from Idaho (poetry) was published by Black Lawrence Press. In 2014, Glimpses of a Forever Foreigner was released. In 2015, Matsuda collaborated with artist, Matt Sasaki, and produced a graphic novel, Fighting for America: Nisei Soldiers. Chapter one was animated by the Seattle Channel and won a 2016 regional Emmy. In 2016, he and Tess Gallagher collaborated on Boogie Woogie CrissCross, a book of poetry. In 2019 his novel, My Name is Not Viola, was published by Endicott and Hugh Books. In 2023, his book Shapeshifter-Minidoka Concentration Camp Legacy won one of two Honorable Mentions in the Idaho Book of the Year competition.
Shadow of the Enemy (Minidoka, Idaho 1943)
Mommy why are you still crying?
Something terrible, I said?
No, Minidoka makes me feel like dying.
Newspaper hysteria encourages lying,
fake news of Japanese is spread.
Mommy why are you still crying?
Reality and truth heap in stacks for burning.
Neighbors believe Mom dances with the dead.
Mommy this place makes me feel like dying.
In dreams I jump rope, always frowning,
snag pink children, fat, and overfed.
Mommy why are you still crying?
Goat head silhouettes emerging,
hunchbacks moan for bloodshed.
Minidoka makes me feel like dying.
Twin Falls children have trouble breathing,
rumors spread of slant-eyed monsters under beds.
Mommy why are you still crying?
This place makes me feel like dying.
Minidoka Night Terrors
My world begins to spin,
first slowly, faster, faster.
I drop my foot like an anchor,
weak attempt to stop the chaos.
I wake with a scream,
pray for shorter nights,
less time for demons.
My brother teaches me how
to re-enter nightmares.
I raise my hand,
mercilessly bludgeon creatures,
become the biggest bully under the sheets.
Night monsters are nothing
compared to the terror
of gazing into mother’s blank eyes.
Minidoka Follows Us to Seattle, 1946
We are basement squatters infused with mildew.
Cracked mosaic covers living room floor,
Minidoka scars remain, we pull through.
My Japanese name means “bamboo.”
Bend don’t break when knocked to all fours.
We are basement squatters infused with mildew.
Our fragrances stick like cement glue.
Foul odors exude from pores.
Minidoka scars remain, we pull through.
Real estate redlines forbid living in View Ridge.
We are castaways peppered with sores,
basement squatters infused with mildew.
Grandpa’s closet churns out sake homebrew,
federal agents confiscate moonshine store.
Minidoka scars remain, we pull through.
Paranoia builds like pressure beneath a screw,
few luxuries survive ravages of war.
We are basement squatters infused with mildew.
Minidoka scars remain, but we pull through.
All poems copyrighted by Lawrence Matsuda, 2024.
© 2024 Lawrence Matsuda
