The Legend Of Yamashita's Treasure

When Ella croons No they can't take that
away from me, it isn't the late swish
of bodies trotting across a dance floorI hear

but the more forceful clink of spade
against rock in the hills north of my hometown,
where Yamashita's engineers and soldiers

were ordered to carve deep vaults in the earth.
MacArthur's planes throttled across the Pacific as they lay
bars of gold bullion like masonry around burnished

statues.  It's not so hard to believe, considering
stories of family heirlooms wrapped in cloth
and buried beneath a tree, of diamonds

broken from a brooch and given in trust
to each child, to swallow whole before war
wrenched them from each other's arms.
 
Legend says when they were done, they raised
wine glasses and cried Banzai! Prince Takeda
and Chichibu thanked each loyal worker,

then climbed out to dynamite the tunnels and
their secrets shut. B-17s circled, tightened their sights.
Did they know they would never, never meet again

on the bumpy road to love? That's why x marks the spot
where we want to dig in the backyard for hidden treasure,
to raise from the soil a Buddha whose ruined hand rains gold

coins struck with the symbol not for longevity or fortune, but for luck.

First published in Spoon River Poetry Review, fall 2007;
Finalist, 2007 Spoon River Poetry Prize