The Village On the Water Iv
Thump-thump of stiffening fish contorting
In the bilge beneath the gunwale;
Lidless, bulging, reddened eyes, swivelling upwards,
Protruding horribly from the straining sockets,
Express stupefied amazement at inconceivable
Abruptness
Of a former world pulled inside out.
The opening and shutting of mouths, almost as if
Attempting to fashion words for the injustices of
Such a cruel, monstrous act,
Desperately try to draw on that which can
No longer be found.
Conscious of this agonized, suffocating death
They endure we are prompted
To seek endorsement from Gonggong...
Lest we should suffer his violent and
Destructive displeasure.
Soon the nameless thing that comes to strangle
All living things
Will come searching for our breath also...
But not this day. Today, to satisfy urgent needs...
These fish are compelled to give up on theirs.
Choruses of bird song. And orioles serenade
Returning wupengs.
"Tie up your boats", the birds sing, "we will
Watch
Over your mornings catch"...they too are
Alert to the shaded heron.
An extending, accentuated, placing of the feet;
Huddled and wrapped in obsequious and
Divine inscrutability;
Ever vigilant -- ever cautious;
Stalks with painstaking deliberation of a
Creeping Snow Leopard;
Headband more blacker than Summer's
Thundering clouds;
In the narrowing slit of the pupil -- an intense,
Glittering!
Pitiless as a murderous assassin that steals
Through the treacherous murk of unlit nights.
But we know his artful ways...and stow away
The hard-earned prize.
Now we will sit cross legged and eat
Hot-dry noodles, steamed wuchang and pork-rib
Soup with lotus root;
And, raising smooth, round, porcelain drinking
Cups, decorated with brightly fired colours,
To our salty lips, sip sweetened green-tea
Made with water from the blessed Toad Hole;
After having drank of these sublime waters,
Lu Yu left letters...
And declared it --
"The Fourth Spring Under Heaven!"
My wife, shuffling about the floor as a timid,
Padded quail,
Sighing absently in that abstract manner, softly
Chiding and scolding unto herself...
She has a secret she has not yet disclosed of me.
It will be a boy...the priest in the orange robe
Foretold of this.
The boy shall fulfil his earthly duty to his
Heavenly ancestors as I have done...
And as all those who have come before me
Have so done;
Fathering children is an honourable duty...
And must, therefore, be considered higher
Than mere obligation.
She will tell me when she is ready to tell me...
The only permitted privilege for a female.
I am well acquainted with the rules of the
Game...having played this game before.
Then, nonchalant evening arriving as if it were
Just another slowed dawning.
Clearing skies submerge into the hesitant gloom
Gathering beneath fading, drowsy purple hills.
The lapping waters gentle swell, and sleep has
Crept upon a woman's shallow heaving breast.
Groaning wupengs buoy upwards; secured ropes
Tightening against creaking moorings:-
Old, gnarly, bleached planks which have the
Authentic stamp of a great comforting familiarity
Residing within them.
Flurrying snow, caught in the glare of
Sputtering lanthorns,
Falls silently over deserted verandas;
A fragile sun...finally relinquishes...
Collapses down...
Sinks into the bottomless depths of endless
Green forests.
That immense Autumn Moon...
As big as an island alone and adrift in a
Disconsolate sea!
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2020
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