“The Geisha”, Open Link Night at dversepoets.com

 

 

 

Moon sits low

above solemn pines.

The night is cold.

As dawn breaks

the geisha kneels, waiting.

 

Plum tea kimono wraps

her tightly-

white would be right

color of mourning,

color of death.

 

Her lover, disgraced

has embraced

Death-

blood the sacrifice

to wipe clean a

particular stain.

 

She to follow

Honor fulfilled,

death follows death

rigid path of decree.

 

A life mostly of sorrow.

 

Opening her gown,

she exposes white skin,

her maid, quietly weeps

slides back the shoji

exposing a winter landscape-

white snow on rocks

white snow like her skin

soft, soon to disappear,

one to melt,

one to white ash.

 

Yes, life mostly of sorrow.

 

Outside

winter is silent,

no wind at all,

snow falling like silken petals

Ah! She will never see spring

or cherry blossom time!

 

Floating over muted,

glassine air

comes the sound-

two monks

playing flutes

welcome the day.

Shakuhachi artists,

mournful sound,

sound that brings

peace to an anxious heart.

 

 

She bows her head,

picks up the tanto-

and opens the vein.

 

Blood of her line

answers to that

of another.

 

Life.

So full of sorrow.

 

—

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2015

A tanto is a short knife.  A woman would not cut her abdomen (seppuku), but would open the main vein in her neck. She would have tied together her legs at the knees, over her kimono, so she would face death with modesty.

Poetry: “The Geisha”

THE GEISHA

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
Death
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.

Opens her gown,
exposing white skin,
her maid, quietly weeping
on command,
opens the shoshi
a winter landscape
white snow on the rocks
white snow like her skin
soft , melting away.
Yes, life mostly of sorrow.

Outside,
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 sound
sound that brings
rest to her heart.

She smiles
picks up the knife
plunges it downward,
blood of her line
answers for honor
of another.

janekohutbartels
Copyrighted, 2008