Measured Extravagance

31 August 2001 - 1:36 a.m.

Watched Why Has Bodhi-Dharma Left for the East? tonight, after hurriedly shovelling down carryout gyoza and teriyaki before the show, and afterwards crawling and dodging my way in and out of congestion on Wedgewood Avenue. Yes, I am well aware of the ironies.

I hadn't planned to submit a "Imaginations" poem to this month's Poetica Collab (having already written about the photo) but halfway through the film, I couldn't resist mulling over self and craft and fruitful silences:

Before the Poem

Inside my mouth, I am cradling an egg.
Inside the egg flow grains of ink and sand.

If you taste the ink, your tongue will whip
around the sting of sour cherry vinegar.

If you taste the sand, it will draw your lips
towards maps of burning plumes.

    - pld

The day before one of his long-distance motorcycle rallies, a friend of the Beautiful Young Man asked me, "How'd you sleep last night?" "Fine." "Really? Aren't you nervous about him?" "Nah - what happens will happen."

One day I may write an essay and call it "Zen and the Art of Being a Good Biker Wife." Mind you, I really am joking, as it'd be very short - as with all other marital matters, I happen to believe the rules differ from couple to couple. For now, I'll just simply note that I recently overheard a woman explaining how she could "let" her partner go riding thousands of miles away from her: "It's simple. I love him," she said. She said this without any melodrama or irony in her tone, but what I really remember is the look on her face: having seen her partner safely off, it was half-proud and half-scared.

And since my own man had departed just moments ahead of hers, I was pretty sure my own face was wearing the same expression.

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