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Carol Kim Poem
You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
You end up here. Regret none of it –Dorianne Laux
Those streets are now narrow ones that wind into each other all converging at a market place, a neighborhood that doesn’t sleep. There’s a row of Tankas!
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Tibetan canvases to be scrolled, now displayed on hangers like racks of clothing.
Tourists are fishing through them, looking for their special one.
I see Green Tara, protector of Nepal, dancing on a tanka.
She is arrayed in gold leaf ornaments. Golden clouds hover over her. That’s for me! The store owner tells me it took the artist, a Nepali student and a monk, 23 days to complete. And, the student worked 8 hours a day! I asked if 23 days was usual.
He said sometimes 24. Outside, there were about 23 shops dotting the grounds. Maybe there were really 24. A few middle aged women like me and my teachers group stopped to chat. They came from across these mountains, from---Tibet.
We are from Ireland,
Canada, and the U.S.
The Tibetans told us about how they were forced to leave Tibet when the Chinese military came in and took their land. Here in Pokhara, in the Hamalayas, in the clouds, today, business was good.
One of my friends bought a card of earrings
She’ll now want to get more piercings.
I went back to the tanka store and listened to the Islamic chanters across the street
The men rolled out their prayer rugs
and sat with their long pipes puffing.
I ordered a slice of German chocolate cake and sat by the lake in Pokhara.
When the week stuffs my head with endless red tape, it’s time to stop and visit the Tanka store.
Copyright © Carol Kim | Year Posted 2020
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Carol Kim Poem
Bales of Hay by Carol Kim
The bales of hay rest lazily in a field of dreams.
Their short shadows face west like the trains on pioneer women’s skirts.
The bales of hay face different directions.
Two are completely enveloped in shadow.
Three are resting closer to the artist than the others.
Is the space between them wide enough?
Eleven bales in all, rolled neatly into wheels--
that linger and do not roll by themselves--
and silent, still warmed by the setting sun.
By the next sunset, they will have been moved and changed forever.
For now, they are like me grazing in my notebook,
Resting in a field of ideas.
Copyright © Carol Kim | Year Posted 2020
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Carol Kim Poem
Uncharacteristically
I got up uncharacteristically at 6 and
Uncharacteristically heated up a bowl of chicken soup
And enjoyed the warm sunshine through the blinds
Uncharacteristically, I drove to campus at 6:40 to assess a maintenance worker
for a promotion.
His supervisor dropped in around 7:30 midway into the interview, (we were talking about the best way to clean a bathroom) and opened his internet key for us so that
I could assess email skills.
Doing things uncharacteristically in the morning gave me more energy for the day.
Copyright © Carol Kim | Year Posted 2020
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Carol Kim Poem
Reply to Spring
The dazzling darkness coming down the mountain
breathing and tasting… --in Spring by Mary Oliver
Stomping on crispy maple leaves
The air is wet
I pull my jacket closer
Tromping through the leaves
I breath in calmness and
Breath out hope
The cars are resting ahead
No mind
I wonder how I will scratch through the pines
Back to walking in the mountains
When all I see is bare and silent.
Copyright © Carol Kim | Year Posted 2020
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