Post by curulambe on Sept 14, 2006 11:01:41 GMT -5
I dreamt last night of Katherine, my wife.
She went there every night to watch the games,
occasionally to hone her skill. I saw
her hands as they placed stones, her sharp-boned face
framed by a sun-bright halo. She was good,
better by far than I, who only stopped
the few times I could visit Tokyo's deeps,
the smoke-filled basements where we came to play.
Two foreigners, one lost, one quite at home;
our arrogance repulsed us, like from like.
Not until later did we grow to love,
as she came to play with the invalid.
She placed the stones for me, long-fingered hands
dancing across the board while mine lay still,
for fear their jerking would destroy the shapes.
Once, as we drank clear wine and talked of home,
she took my hands, now steady, in her own,
and kissed my fingers. That night we made love,
the languid passion of immortal youth.
I did not see her, then, for seven months,
seven long months of salt and steel and blood,
of shouts and klaxons long into the night,
of screams and fire and ears grown numb with pain.
I did not think to see her at the pier
when we returned. I had not dared to hope.
She went there every night to watch the games,
occasionally to hone her skill. I saw
her hands as they placed stones, her sharp-boned face
framed by a sun-bright halo. She was good,
better by far than I, who only stopped
the few times I could visit Tokyo's deeps,
the smoke-filled basements where we came to play.
Two foreigners, one lost, one quite at home;
our arrogance repulsed us, like from like.
Not until later did we grow to love,
as she came to play with the invalid.
She placed the stones for me, long-fingered hands
dancing across the board while mine lay still,
for fear their jerking would destroy the shapes.
Once, as we drank clear wine and talked of home,
she took my hands, now steady, in her own,
and kissed my fingers. That night we made love,
the languid passion of immortal youth.
I did not see her, then, for seven months,
seven long months of salt and steel and blood,
of shouts and klaxons long into the night,
of screams and fire and ears grown numb with pain.
I did not think to see her at the pier
when we returned. I had not dared to hope.
