—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Medusa
A CHINESE GENESIS
After Shanhaijing, a 4th century BCE classical
Chinese text
Pangu slashes open the chaotic
cosmos with a silver sword, dividing
the world into night and day.
Nüwa dips handfuls of soil into the river,
squeezing and shaping them into figurines
of various shapes and sizes.
The God of the Wind walks past,
breathing life into the figurines.
The Goddess of the Rain descends,
moistening them with tears.
Nüwa is happy. She calls these figurines
ren, human beings. She hasn’t
expected, nor can she anticipate,
these people would later be divided
into men and women, labelled
gay and straight, black and white.
After Shanhaijing, a 4th century BCE classical
Chinese text
Pangu slashes open the chaotic
cosmos with a silver sword, dividing
the world into night and day.
Nüwa dips handfuls of soil into the river,
squeezing and shaping them into figurines
of various shapes and sizes.
The God of the Wind walks past,
breathing life into the figurines.
The Goddess of the Rain descends,
moistening them with tears.
Nüwa is happy. She calls these figurines
ren, human beings. She hasn’t
expected, nor can she anticipate,
these people would later be divided
into men and women, labelled
gay and straight, black and white.
HERBALIST
Mum must be an herbalist.
In summer, she cooks Silver Ear Mushroom
Soup,
translucent with white lotus seeds and red
goji berries,
effective for clearing the throat and relieving
coughs.
In winer, she makes Wood Ear Mushroom
Soup,
rich in dates, chestnuts, and chicken stock,
white steam arising from an ancient clay pot,
good to warm up the stomach and nurture
the soul.
I have always been fascinated by
how many types of mushrooms she knows,
and how different the variety of soups she
makes
each with a distinct medicinal purpose.
Away from home, whenever I see mushrooms
I feel my throat dry, stomach growling
eager to taste Mum’s mushroom soup
to cure my homesickness.
A TASTE OF HOME
It’s the third time this week I’ve visited
the restaurant. Spring couplets
on the doorframe. Red lanterns
above the windows. Cherry blossoms
on the wall. I sit down at a corner table,
gaze at the Moo Shu pork on the menu:
golden omelette adorned by green
cucumbers, black wood-ear mushrooms.
A middle-aged Chinese woman talks
to the phone in broken English.
A girl, perhaps a university student, scurries
around with plates full in both hands.
Customers, young and old, bathed
in the creamy steam of Hot Pot, the spicy
aroma of Kung Pao Chicken, the heart-
wrenching Cantonpop from the nineties.
Please don’t blame me for frequenting
this place when many other restaurants
are nearby. It feels like home:
its sight, its sound, its flavour, its taste—
FELLOW TRAVELLERS
The sun beams brightly between the shadows.
The display boards blink without making
apologies.
The café emanates roasted and ground coffee
beans.
The train waits patiently at the platform when
I arrive.
Empty seats open their arms waving at pass-
engers.
I take a table seat with a nice view through
the window.
An old woman sitting opposite inquires about
the time.
Small talk soon leads to a lengthy conversa-
tion about
language, culture, family, life and places visited.
Two hours flash past like trees and fences
outside.
It’s ridiculous to think about how easily people
connect
on a fast-moving train traversing the fields,
the towns.
I can only imagine we are pre-destined to meet,
ready for chance encounters and small surprises.
A gentle smile, a quick nod, some soft-spoken
words,
we are all fellow travellers on the same journey.
THE WINNER TAKES IT ALL
After the BBC Show, “The Traitors”, Season 2
I’d always wanted to be a Traitor,
taking control of my own destiny, and those
of others. What’s good about being a Faithful?
Sheep-like, waiting to be slaughtered,
without knowing when.
I’m that bright, sunny boy in your dream.
My angelic face, sparkly eyes, innocent
smile take anyone off guard,
women or men, gay or straight.
Who says beauty is only skin deep?
Thank you all for supporting me.
Your trust is so comforting.
Mollie, I love your cute naïvety.
Andrew, your emotion hangs you dry.
In the Traitor’s world, there is no place
for virtue. Because the winner takes it all.
LIFE ON THE BAO SPACESHIP
Bao lives in a spaceship that hovers between
Jupiter and Mars.
He floats in a silver Bao spacesuit inside a
vacuum chamber made of stainless steel.
He drinks Bao juice from a long tube attached
to a beer barrel.
He sleeps with Bao spacesuit on and attaches
the belts to bed posts.
He remembers details of his life on the earth,
the Bao House where he once lived,
the Bao dumplings his Mum steamed,
the Bao bag his carried on his back to school,
the red Hongbao packets with money he
received for Lunar New Year.
Bao tries to write a memoir, but he can’t find
a ballpen.
When he finally finds a pen and opens a packet
of paper,
all sheets fly away, like flowers scattering in
the Bao spaceship.
This reminds Bao of his hometown on the earth.
It must be Spring there. Cherry flowers must
be in full bloom.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
All I need is a sheet of paper
and something to write with, and then
I can turn the world upside down.
―Friedrich Nietzsche
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Hongwei Bao for today’s fine poetry!
Go to https://chippewavalleygrowers.com/the-magnificent-history-of-chrysanthemums for “How Mums Became a Symbol of Fall”.
Hongwei Bao
For info about
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
