“The Geisha”, from “A Seasoning of Lust”


Moon floats above the pines
the night is cold.
The Geisha sits on haunches
grown stiff with waiting.

She wears a
pink tea kimono
for this occasion but
white would be right
color of mourning
color of death.

Her lover disgraced
he has embraced
blood the sacrifice
wipes clean a
particular stain.

She is to follow
Honor fulfilled
death follows death
rigid path of hard order
life mostly of sorrow.

Opening her gown,
exposing white skin,
her maid, quietly weeping
on command,
pulls back the shoji
a winter landscape
white snow on the rocks
white snow like her skin
soft , melting away.
Yes, life mostly of sorrow.

winter is silent,
snow falling like petals
Ah! She will never see spring
or cherry blossoms!

Floating over muted
glassine air
comes the sound
two monks
playing flutes

Shakuhachi artists,

mournful music

peaceĀ  to her heart.

She smiles
picks up the knife
and cuts her neck.
Blood of her line
answers for honor
of another.

Copyrighted, 2008

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