Improv, Week 9

Beside a Chrysanthemum
--So Chong-Ju
To bring one chrysanthemum
flower, the cuckoo has cried
since spring.

To bring one chrysanthemum to bloom,
thunder has rolled
through black clouds.

Flower, like my sister returning
from distant, youthful byways
of throat-tight longing
to stand by the mirror:

for your yellow petals to open
last night such a frost fell,
and I could not sleep.

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To bring milk to the well,
every April, the millipede will curl
into a flat roll, like a saucer.

To bring milk to the schoolyard,
after the rain lets, after the children
pick themselves up from scrapped knee.

Milk, like the finest tusks returns
in favors from distant relatives,
leaves caught in the throat
of Spring, standing room only:

for your opal colored drops
that collect in the hand
of unexpecting orphans
that dream of warmth.