1676 Rose Villa

Jinko Gotoh


“Japs go home!”

Angry graffiti screams from Papa’s
white garage door,
rotten tomatoes and raw eggs cling
to Mama’s Rambler
like leftover Donburi.

Summer 1966.
From land of rising sun
to smoggy Pasadena.

Who? No!
Not neighbors across street?

Silence. 
Their doors and curtains
always closed.
Welcome to America.

My little sister is traumatized.
Refuses to sleep with lights off.

She watches
“Pablo and the Dancing Chihuahua” on TV,
announces,
“If I can have Chihuahua,
I will sleep with lights off
for one week!”

Papa reluctantly agrees.

 We name puppy Chibi, Tiny,
eight weeks old,
color of peanuts.


Soon, across street,
another dog appears--
white, black spots.

Snoopy and Chibi,
Chibi and Snoopy.

Neighbor’s little boy
and my sister now inseparable.
“Dame yo!” Mama says.
“Stay in your own driveway.”

One day, Snoopy sees us playing
and runs across street.

No! No! No!
Car can’t stop.
Car keeps going.
Snoopy covered in blood,
dies instantly in my arms.

Our families unite.
Some nights we leave Rose Villa
and go out for Sukiyaki,
and sometimes for Chinese,
and sometimes to Pie and Burger.