This poem portrays the quiet, everyday life during a few days when the poet’s wife is away. Through shopping, cooking, and managing meals alone, the speaker comes to rediscover the value of ordinary routines usually supported by another. Beneath its light humor and vivid domestic details lies a gentle sense of gratitude and affection for family life.
“ While My Wife Is Away”
She’s off for a two-night, three-day stay
at our daughter’s home.
She enjoys brief conversations
with our busy daughter.
Cooking together with her, a professional chef,
must be delightful.
Now then, what shall I cook alone?
On the way back
after seeing her off,
I stopped by the nearby co-op.
First, the essential for a highball—
“Riku” whisky.
Then I begin wandering the store
for two days’ worth of food.
Lately, kimchi ranks high
on my list of cravings.
With wild garlic,
it would be exquisite.
Pork shoulder—20% off—
ginger pork sounds good.
Checking the fish section,
I spot half-price
semi-prepared herring.
In the deli corner,
a tempura set catches my eye.
Five items in hand,
I check out with my co-op card.
Back home,
I decide on an early dinner.
Reheat the cold rice,
crisp up the tempura again.
The leftovers I’ll save
for tomorrow’s udon.
Pour broth over rice—
a tempura bowl is done.
With kimchi mixed with wild garlic,
I finish the meal.
On the second morning,
I harvest the first asparagus
from the garden.
Fresh after the rain,
served with corned beef
and a fried egg.
Then I think of herring rolled in kelp—
it’s been a while since I made it.
I find thick kelp
from Minamikayabe in Hakodate.
Too thick to roll,
so I cut it into squares,
soak and simmer it
until tender,
then lay the herring on top.
After about thirty minutes,
it’s finally ready to eat.
I’ll have it
as a snack with drinks.
In the afternoon,
I suddenly crave chijimi.
The ingredients are all there.
I mix flour
with the soaking broth from the kelp,
add a stock rich with shrimp essence,
season with gochujang
and doubanjiang.
Plenty of chives, kimchi,
and pork—done.
I try frying it right away.
Quite delicious—
but too much.
Dinner becomes
tempura udon and chijimi.
I eat too much.
The leftover chijimi
I’ll reheat tomorrow.
All day,
my mind revolved only around food.
For what my wife does every day,
I feel nothing but gratitude.
Listening to my daughter’s voice
on the radio,
the highball goes down smoothly.
She speaks about
Children’s Day—
established in 1949,
seventy-seven years ago.
No need to calculate—
that’s my age.
Written on May 5, 2026. Tomorrow, I’ll be freed from planning meals.