散文「迷う老婆と」
東京郊外のホテルのロビーで
紅茶をすする白髪の人
わたしはガラスのこちらから
歩み寄る足を、思わず止める
商談にきたはずのこの時間
悩み惑う者が二人
違和感をオレンジジュースで埋めて
椅子をはさんで向かいあう
老婆の昔話には正論があり
正論が故に手枷足枷になっており
わたしの話はとりとめもなく
ただ諦めを悟られないように繕う
生き過ぎましたね
お互いに
全てはこの言葉に尽きるのに
あなたはまだ若いからと
冷めきった紅茶をすするあなたに
もはや返す言葉もなく
東京の空をガラス越しに見上げる
東京には空がある
ただ空というにはあまりにも冷たい
格差と差別と中途半端な優しさに
わたしは迷子になる
残された伝票を握りしめて
In the lobby of a suburban Tokyo hotel,
a white-haired person sips tea.
From the other side of the glass,
I feel my steps halt, unexpectedly.
This time was meant for a business negotiation,
yet here are two who are lost and troubled.
We try to fill the awkwardness with orange juice,
facing each other across the table.
Her tales of the past are lined with hard truths,
truths that have become chains, binding her hands and feet.
My own words are scattered, unanchored,
carefully veiling my resignation.
We've lived too long,
both of us.
Though everything could end with these words,
you sip your now-cold tea,
saying, "But you’re still young."
I have nothing left to reply,
and gaze up at the Tokyo sky through the glass.
Tokyo has a sky,
yet it is too cold to simply call it that.
Amid disparities, discrimination, and lukewarm kindness,
I lose my way,
clutching the receipt left behind.