Chinoiserie

there was a path–

it was a fecund path,

a fertile path–

and it waited, receptive,

for a seed to be planted

in its red and loamy soil.

this was accepted.

sometimes the seed ticced and spasmed–

it frequently tremored,

bouncing from Light particle

to Light

as it burgeoned with Life,

striving for the Liberty

to Thrive.

that seed sprouted into limbs,

head, and trunk,

shrunken head,

constellations of cells

composed of granular memories

of the limbs, heads, and trunks,

trunks of lead,

that walked the path before me.

but here is this cluster,

this cluster of cells

wrapped in Chinoiserie finery,

embroidery finely

stitched to its banners of silk,

the pots of rice and boiling tea,

and columns of mountains

that jut from the sea

and pierce the clouds

shrouding the Liao,

as a soundtrack of cranes

flies in distant echoes.

i accept it–

i celebrate the Chinoise in me

that voyages free

through a forest of lanterns

and the incense of a smoky tea-stained sky.