Edo Palace Mix
Takae, so simple, fluttering on the wind of vegetarian
existence, refusing to eat up more than her share,
presenting herself a second time, but finding no taker,
is less than joyous, yet remains so gentle. Two swans
glide, bobbing for minnows, mated for life, fed by ample
moat, seen by hundreds each day. Mostly Takae yearns
to be the swan on the right, head held up, pet of the palace.
Instead, like the sour gooseberry picker, Chekhov’s Nikolay,
she labors at city hall. Better, like the clerk job Kafka had, or
Poe’s daily grind, Takae, so full of wonder, but now resentment
too, as youth slips into middle age with no permanent necker,
glider, lover to snuggle with. Yellow petunias with purple eyes
stretch open to us, and I think that Takae will see this exact
pattern and find comfort having spent a day in Chiba
with friends that will, over time, form a second base.
A dream fulfilled erases previous disappointment. How to
meld dreams into the closeness that supports? Elephant ear
plants glisten under gray. Bamboo rustles, imperial reminder
that one generation can be the foundation of new style, culture,
love, beauty, art, strength, ethics, for centuries to come.