First Glimpse of Japan

Fishing boats

look alive

bobbing on the waves

but on islands

half obscured by clouds

fields

roads

towns

are too distant

to show a human face

I think of bombers

during the Pacific War

bringing death

I see mountains

green

alien

beautiful

I begin to encounter

islands of the “Divine Wind”

kamikaze

where my experiences are

yet to be

unpredictable

sacred.

First Snow

Watching the first snow fall
I want to be
like children in Tokyo
running outside
with outstretched arms
and open mouths
to greet the only snowfall
of the year.

The Japanese Bowl

I unwrap
your gift
a Japanese bowl
lacquered
multilayered
intricate

reading that you
"have one just like it"
I see us as two beautiful bowls
on opposite sides
of the ocean

I regret leaving my bowl
too long encased in its wrapping

not knowing it was mine to use
I ate off old china
from other people's cellars.

The Intensity of Newness

When I returned from Asia
my native land
was a new country

that spring
the crocus bloomed for weeks
I made repeated pilgrimages
to see them
mauve
yellow
purple
white
and striped

the next year
April was the shortest month
the crocus bloomed briefly
before I noticed
and were gone.

Perpetual Child

A larva
too much of my life
a polyp spinning through water
carried in a swift instant
on a myriad of dancing fins
hesitating over a patch of sand
some honeycombed coral
rippling waves over the forever future
when I will anchor into sand
I must stop skimming lightly away
from the edges of islands
and learn to land bravely
on unknown shores
of new lands.

From the Same Pot

In a mountain hut
they eat rice
from a single pot

the traveler
pulls off a knitted sweater
lifts his face
towards the mountains
thoughts on Jesus

the old Kashmiri man
spreads his woolen cloak
presses his forehead
to the ground
rising towards Mecca.

Bandaging a Wound

On his first trip from home
the born-again Christian
earnest young man
sets down his unsullied backpack
and takes out his first aid kit
pristine white and red

he kneels to the blistered foot
of the Himalayan innkeeper
who overcharged him
for a sagging bed
dim room
and faded quilt

the innkeeper
wears his weathered skin
and ragged cloak
like the mountains
wear their forests
earth and age
ground into the crevasses

torn out of its sterile covering
the antiseptic bandage
makes a white scar
on the mountain man's wounded
and calloused feet

the traveler feels privileged
to enact Jesus' healing.

In the Himalayas

Running away
from marrying
the man who loves me
I travel
to lose my selfish ego
among the Himalayan mountains

in Kashmir
I encounter a medical missionary
dispensing medications
and Christianity
to sick Muslims

he invites me
to join his mission

sick of myself
I see
an invitation to change
into a good person
caring about others

he sees
my acceptance
as his invitation
to save my soul
meaning
I must surrender my ego
be "One in the Spirit"
believe, think, feel
as he does

he sees Satan
in questions I ask him
in mail I receive
in my talking
with other travelers

he seeks to isolate
suppress my questioning
tame my idiosyncrasy
crush my ego

every skeptical synapse of my soul
looks askance
at the submergence
of being "One in the Spirit"

he threatens that
if I leave
his remote mountain hut,
I will lose all awareness
of the Holy Spirit

I never did like the Holy Ghost
to me it is
Hocus Pocus

but
on this far side of the world
from friends and family
with Whom do I evaluate the risk?
with Whom do I walk out of his orbit
and down the mountain?

Who gives me this certainty
when I now sit alone
under a pine tree
in a valley
of the Himalayas
that I am not lost?

Who pours into me
the Grace I feel
streaming from the cathedral sky?

Reluctant Bride

Headlines in a Bombay tabloid
“Reluctant Bride
Strangled in Bed”

just married
she left her parents' house

and after the ceremony
her husband
brought her to his house
they ate a meal
went to bed

he wanted sex
she declined
politely

he insisted
she refused
they argued

while she slept
he wound
cloth around her neck
and pulled

he wanted sex
got an empty body

he turns
the blood's blade
against himself
drips confession
on the strangled limpness
that was briefly his wife.

A Westerner Reads Two Personal Ads in an Indian Newspaper

“Parents seek
doctor, engineer or lawyer
for fair-skinned
accomplished daughter
English-educated with
unblemished character
horoscope and full details necessary”

“Brother seeks for sister
divorced with one child
a suitable partner
caste and creed immaterial
substantial dowry
paddy field and
two acres of high land
plus jewelery”

fair-skinned
Western-educated
roaming
daughter, sister
very accomplished
in escaping suitable partners
no encumbrance except herself
seeks.

Chinese Coolie

As if I were an Asian coolie
making my way through narrow streets
I carried his love for me

what he offered
what I wanted
were two packages
swinging from opposite ends
of a shoulder pole

I juggled my burden
until the passage became constricted

then I dropped it.

Taking and Leaving

We make their plans
for the journey

get our visas
stroll through
the Embassy garden
to the gate

and the road
beyond

he reaches for my arm
hopeful

I slouch nonchalant

I could take or leave
his reaching for my arm.

Easy Choices

In the restaurant
amongst the balmy breezes
of the South Indian resort
he makes my choices
easy
calls over the waiter
“Bring this woman the best...”

after dinner
I kick off sandals
dance barefoot
in a silver dress
on the unblemished floor
my head on his shoulder
imagining romantic
ever-afters

I exchange all that
for traveling alone
to the Himalayan mountains
of northern India
for crowded buses
cheap food
and stark lodgings
my fingernails dirty
clothes worn for a week
heavy-booted as a peasant
feet cold from wet snow
I climb slowly
up the steep hillside

unable to go through with
his decision to marry.

Ankle Bracelet

On our vacation in India
I buy an ankle bracelet
in the market

the vendor uses pliers
to press the connecting rings
so the chain won't slip off

the amulet
encircles my leg
as if to ward off
our impending breakup

back from the market
I run to him
across the beach
like a child
eager to have him notice
the adornment

he smiles approval
but the bands
grate sand into my legs

when I swim
out into the ocean
silver spikes dig into my skin

I stop in deep water
to break the chain.

We are Invited to your Successor's Apartment

We lived among
slender ceramic figures
ivory animals
silk fans
old books
porcelain vases
and red silk poppies

here
in the kitchen
we made coffee
our wok sizzled
we leaned against the counter
gesturing with chopsticks

our bodies came dripping from the bath
now empty porcelain

all gone
now sparsely furnished with Scandinavian
pale wood and earth-colored rug
this place was ours
for a moment in time

we were guests then
as we are now.

---

Nepal Appoints Living Goddess

The child looks at me
from the newspaper page

she is a newly-appointed
living goddess
chosen for her perfect hair
eyes
teeth
skin
and horoscope

she has proved herself
by spending a night alone
without showing fear
among the heads
of ritually slaughtered
goats and buffaloes

a three-year-old child
carried from her parents' home
to the ancient temple

incarnation of a Hindu deity
she is wrapped in red silk
her hair adorned with red blossoms
her hair is tied up
a third eye painted on her forehead

priests chant sacred hymns
and cascade flowers over her
worshipers will touch their foreheads to her feet

during festivals
she will be carried on a chariot
pulled by devotees

her eyes are dark pools
looking out from her perfect face
as if asking
silently
what in her horoscope
or beauty
condemns her to surrender childhood
and all its rainbow colors
for a prison of red

to become an icon
with reverence instead of family
worshipers instead of friends
a mirror of the Divine
dressed in red
like the blood
of the slaughtered

she will be returned
to her family
only when her body yields
the blood of puberty
and priests seek
the new perfection.

Gravestones, Hong Kong - Five Fragments

Down from a heavily-trafficked road
the Chinese cemetery
is a silent
hillside city
terraces of granite and marble
gravestones
with photographs hardly weathered

I climb down
as rows of faces
mounted on stone
watch me move
old man, young woman, child
all unmoving
open-eyed
a silent gallery
raising my fear
about to send me fleeing
up the steep slope.
_____________

In this city of dead
I imagine myself the only life
hunted by relentless ghosts

the harsh wasteland
offers no sanctuary
the tombstones
are obstacles to flight
opportunity for ambush

the uninvolved spectators
beyond caring
offer no aid

I entertain the white bleakness
of death.
________________

Row on row of empty niches in the wall
only one is plastered over
and covered with a photograph
a woman tapes a plastic cup
filled with red flowers
to that plaque
over her husband's ashes
a glazed photograph of his face
gazes out
on two people burning candles
in a used soda can
and a silk flower left
in an old medicine bottle.
___________________

Where gravestones
are blackened with age
the inscriptions faint
the portraits in weathered marble
made gentle and mysterious with time
bodies are planted in the earth
sousl looking out
to the misty island mountains.

__________________

Behind the row of monuments
the retaining wall crumbles
moss grows in the cracks
a vine creeps down over mortar
a black and white butterfly
hovers over orange blossoms
ants drag the bodies of dead insects
making traffic patterns on the rock.

Taking Pigs to Market, Hong Kong

When the four pigs are let out
their noses sniff the dirt path
outside their pen

one puts its snout
into the wire cage
thrust in front of him
prodded, he enters
finds the far end tapers
to the shape of his snout
squeals in panic

each pig does the same
investigates
discovers for himself
his own panic

only the last pig
before half-way in
fights his way back out
turning
despite blows of a mallet
climbs half over the cage
turns and turns again
into the blows
rather than into the cage

it is his first and last battle
inevitably
his opponents
trick his head in
shove the rest

the black-trousered woman grins
crinkling leathery skin
showing gold teeth

she and the old man
poke a carrying pole
through the space
between the pig's snout
and the end of the cage

they upend the animal
and set it on the scales
a sagging
pale
and hairy mass of flesh
jammed against the wire cage
by its own weight
its squeal an echo
of each
trapped
doomed
and alone

the pig who fought
is first to be carried away
at least not left
propped against the wall
of its own shed
where young, pink-eared descendants
of boars
grow delicate swirls of hair
above their small eyes.

Mummies from Xinjiang

Chinese peasants
peer through plexiglass
at their ancient ancestors

the mummies
in fetus-curl
or stretched out to the sky
have skin like rusted iron

stark ribs plunging
to taut abdomen

hair sparse and faded

frayed cloth around the loins

feet arched like springs
kept under tension
for thousands of years

toenails yellow as lacquer
mouth a hollow oval
cut from tight-stretched skin

eye sockets webbed over
and opaque

nearby
a blue fire-glazed
ceramic horse
with saddle of orange-red and yellow
its mouth stretching open
silently gallops
out of the past
its eyes ablaze
across the centuries.

A Night in a Yurt in Mongolia

The door is a size for dwarves
we pull it closed
against the coming storm
cold, wind, rain outside

inside
the crisscross frame encircles
a floor of quilted bedding
a small hot stove
where we warm our hands
and pour water from the kettle
steaming into cups

sudden thunder
the lights fare out
a young Mongolian
bursts in with candles
they flicker through dust
blown in
under horsehair felt
thick to the touch
protection
against the desert's gale.

On a Yangtze Riverboat

On the vast water
of the Yangtze River
distant mountains
raise forest sails
beyond the dipping nets of fishermen

as our boat approaches
a necklace of beads
ivory, gold, ebony
drawn through the water
they enlarge to a line of barges
and slip by
with loads of potash, grain and coal

at night the boat docks
and from the upper decks
we foreigners watch
on the crowded pier
a commotion of bicycles
wooden chests and baskets

under shoulder poles
bending with weighted ends
human figures emerge
and one by one
step onto the gangway
to board the ship

the woman at the gate
hair permed into waves
as if on an evening date
takes tickets
pushes
pulls
grabs a man's shoulder
hurls loud blows
from her angry mouth
swiftly bends to catch a few coins dropped

money we would not think to measure
counted out with such ferocious precision

those of us on the upper deck
live even more sheltered
than does the Chinese child I watch
on the lower deck
held protected
in the padded arms
of its blue-jacketed parent.

In the Playground of the International School, Beijing

In the school courtyard
the African boy
comes over to stare
at the child
blond, blue-eyed
no older than himself
carried by a Chinese servant

each is three years old
uncertain of the other
yet in this playground
soon they will be part of a train
swooping down the slide
black knees around a white child
white knees around a Pakistani

children converging
the peoples
split by eons and oceans.

Evening in the old Quarter of Beijing

The pale gold sun
goes down through telephone wires
stretched across the western sky

near the ancient gate
children at play
twist their legs around cords
made of elastics tied together

yi er san shi

one two three four

they count a rhythm
back to my own childhood
far from these streets
far from the old woman
with crooked cane
and bound feet.

Temple of Heaven, Beijing

Long ago the Son of Heaven climbed
the deep-carved ramp
to the white marble terrace
and under the red green blue gilt dome
fasted a night in prayer
for good harvests

priests by the stone altar
chanted the ritual music
to be heard only by the Emperor
and the elite

now around the temple
children ride on handlebars
in the park
pedaled by factory worker parents
on their day off

old men carry birds
in tiny temples
draped with cloth

a peasant holds his daughter
close to the circular wall
and whispers
to let her hear his words
travel around the wall
and back to them
as did the privileged eons ago

loud speakers expand the music
to be heard by everyone

the emperor's prayer
bears a bountiful
populist harvest.

The Temple of the White Dagoba, Beijing

In the market
outside the temple courtyard

chickens scurry
small boys clash with sticks
old men smack down chessmen

fruit being weighed
tumbles multi-colored from scales

fish glimmer in pans

crickets sing
from clusters of wicker balls
and buyers bend close to listen

leaving lanes piled with charcoal
and echoes of the market's
fleeting lives
I find
inside the temple courtyard
floating towards the clouds
a white dome gleaming
eternal marble and gold

under massive eaves
wind moves tiny bells
that hang along the roof

I lean close
to listen.

Noisy Market/ Quiet Temple

In a market street
of southwest Beijing
a man pedals a bicycle
with a pig flopping loose-jointed
across the back carrier

at a bump in the road
the carcass bounces upwards
as if coming back to life

an escaped chicken
runs between cars and bicycles
beating its wings and cawing
until a woman blocks its flight
kicks it back to the vendor

few people enter the temple
in the back street
where gray pavement
meets bare trees
in silence
and monks in brown robes stroll

but within its walls
buildings were pillaged
soldiers billeted
an emperor imprisoned
grieving over his fallen empire.

Tibetan Temple near the Embassy, Beijing

In the central courtyard
a mountain of bronze terraces
encompassing all the continents formed from a caster's mold
represents the entire world

the center
rises to the apex
“Most Lofty Peak”

guarding the four directions
are blue-skinned Tibetan gods
wolf-headed
with ferocious faces
on their belts
trampling demons underfoot
ruling with the tiger
in a world beyond
the embassy's dispatches.

Buddhist Monastery

At the entrance
fierce warriors glare

on the ceiling
dragons fly
each in pursuit
of another's tail

Quan Yin goddesses
twenty feet high
rest on lotus

I yearn for the Nirvana
of smooth-faced boddisatvas
stringed lutes in their curving hands
making silent
eternal music

Nirvana
of the gold-skinned Buddha
on marble clouds
gazing
from half-closed eyes
inward.

Businessmen Doing Tai-chi in a Park

Separated by spaces of park
their business jackets hang on branches
blown by the wind

the men turn and lean in slow motion
among trees frozen in postures
of the same timeless dance

in a slow sweep
a man arcs his sword
through the air
lifts his foot
points his toe
steps carefully
over an invisible obstacle
parries an unseen foe.

Antique Inkstone

In a Chinese antique shop
I am drawn
to a beautiful box
covered with embroidered brocade
closed by ivory tabs

I open the treasure
its hinges are red ribbon
stretched diagonally
to hold the lid open and vertical
over the white silk interior

red sealing wax
marks as antique
the enclosed
dull
green-black
ink stone

even the price is reverent.

Antique Store, Beijing

The room is rich with scrolls
tasselled lanterns glow
cascading from the ceiling

tall vases reach elegant upward
painted with silk-gowned figures

I feel
if I could sit at that table
where dragon breathes fire at dragon
carved in high relief

watch the world through the glass
of these ornate windows

grind ink on ancient ink stones
lifted from silk boxes

I could write something lasting
with strokes from an Emperor's pen.

In Ritan Park

These trees have
stood in this place
for decades
as green ceramic figures parade
like lemmings
endlessly
off the slanted roof
of the pavilion

but that child
held in his father's arms
churning his feet
and laughing
was born only this year

he is present only now.

January ferry from the Island

In January
after a day trip
to an outer island
I shiver on the ferry's open deck
returning to Hong Kong

through overturned deck chairs
the mountains of the island
are cold, blue silhouettes
against red sunset

the people who crowded this boat in August
now crowd city buses
to get home before dark

in summer I sit indoors
reading of places to go

in winter I comb the beaches
getting my shoes full of sand
and my pockets lumpy
with weathered fragments

choosing to be
out of step
out in the cold.

At the Kwan Yin Temple

I climb the rock-studded mountain
past squatters' shacks
to a temple
where Chinese women fervently address
the Kwan Yin goddess

a temple attendant
gives me a cluster of incense

lighting the sticks at a candle
I put one in the mouth of each lion
guarding the entrance
and one on the altar
facing out over Hong Kong

burning incense
mists the city's
skyscrapers
and harbor
below me

my requests of the many-layered goddess
come forward
one by one
standing clear as prayers
gathered around each flame.

From the Plane Window

Looking down
to the cloudscape
above the ocean
that extends
as far as my eyes can see
I feel I am looking
through a glass-bottomed vessel
on cotton-batten
extending to the horizon

looking
at intensity of sky
all around me
I feel there cannot be
any blue more vivid
any clouds more seductive
solid enough to walk on.

At the Airport

Rain on tarmac
makes giant pools
reflecting
illuminated signs

dark windows
mirror departure screens

outside
no stars in the sky
but airplanes flash lights
creep along runways
roar acceleration
climb into night

waiting for my flight
yet another voyage
I am always
leaving a known place
for an unknown
wondering
if I will ever come through darkness
and take the risk to land.

Leaving North America for Asia

Before going to the airport
to fly to Asia
I stop at the beach

in blouse and skirt for traveling
I am overdressed
everyone else in shorts
and bikinis
with roller skates
and skate boards
swooping down a street
to the beach
while I walk down concrete steps
shed my shoes and stockings
and go to stand
at the edge of the ocean

fishing lines drape from the pier
waves crash broken water up my legs
and retreat
splashing my skin
slipping sand from under my feet

surf boards arch over waves
beyond them
evening silhouettes Catalina Island

I gaze beyond the island
watch boats heading west
towards the horizon
sun sinking
into a darkening ocean
planes rising into sunset
as I will do within hours
venturing off the edge
of my known world.

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From the Plane Window

Looking down
to the cloudscape
above the ocean
extending
far as my eyes can see
I feel I am looking
through a glass-bottomed vessel
on cotton-batten treetops
extending to the horizon

looking all around
at intensity of sky
I feel there cannot be
any blue more vivid
any clouds more tangible
any vision more lovely.