Leafstorm
06-30-2008, 08:30 AM
Summer night, glass of red wine, pen and paper . . . cricket outside my window. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Are you laughing at my loneliness, small friend, or are you calling to a loved one? <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Jiá is only 65 miles away, but it might as well be 65,000 – from here to Huangguoshu Waterfall. No mountain ranges or swift rivers separate us – only streams of concrete – and our languages, our dreams, our fears, our loves, our ghosts. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
My glass is empty now, so I’ll write a funny poem to make us laugh – you and me, Mr. Cricket. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Or are you an emissary and this noise is Jiá’s message? I know, let’s all speak your language for a change. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Was she playing the guzheng? How much better my poetry would be if written to her lovely version of “Spring on <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Snowy</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>Mountains</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>” – rather than your noisy serenade. Or, glass of white wine in hand, has she gone outside to gaze at the moon? <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Okay, you win! I’ll come outside instead of write. I had nothing good to say anyway – only wine-soaked words of longing and self-pity. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Yes, she is beautiful on this summer night. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Now jump to it, my friend! Back to the peonies below Jia’s window. Quick! Jump a thousand leagues and then a thousand more! Tell her I understood the message. Tell her that I too am gazing up at the moon, and that tonight, moon-gazing, we are together.
https://farm1.static.flickr.com/174/416691410_beb3be5154.jpg?v=0
<o:p></o:p>
Are you laughing at my loneliness, small friend, or are you calling to a loved one? <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Jiá is only 65 miles away, but it might as well be 65,000 – from here to Huangguoshu Waterfall. No mountain ranges or swift rivers separate us – only streams of concrete – and our languages, our dreams, our fears, our loves, our ghosts. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
My glass is empty now, so I’ll write a funny poem to make us laugh – you and me, Mr. Cricket. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Or are you an emissary and this noise is Jiá’s message? I know, let’s all speak your language for a change. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Was she playing the guzheng? How much better my poetry would be if written to her lovely version of “Spring on <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Snowy</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>Mountains</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>” – rather than your noisy serenade. Or, glass of white wine in hand, has she gone outside to gaze at the moon? <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Okay, you win! I’ll come outside instead of write. I had nothing good to say anyway – only wine-soaked words of longing and self-pity. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Yes, she is beautiful on this summer night. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Now jump to it, my friend! Back to the peonies below Jia’s window. Quick! Jump a thousand leagues and then a thousand more! Tell her I understood the message. Tell her that I too am gazing up at the moon, and that tonight, moon-gazing, we are together.
https://farm1.static.flickr.com/174/416691410_beb3be5154.jpg?v=0