The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Thursday

By Yuan Mei

Skinny legs, white plumage, the old egret,
flown before me, in among plum-blossomed boughs.
Great river, floating sky, moon's white connections.
The little boat tied to a tree, breeze in silken strands.
Where there are mountains, I gaze from my window;
when there's no rain, I mount and ride my horse.
Country travel ten full days: I've had a taste of freedom.
Petty official, school teacher, no more,
stealing time, to chant these lines.


A good Yule to everyone and a wonderful solstice! My stitches are out! Huzzah! Not only can I shower on my own schedule, but I no longer have bandages irritating the heck out of my skin and making me itch! Now if only I could speak normally and stop coughing, life would be very, very good!

That is really all my excitement for the day. I got a little plastic thingie to stop my lens cap from getting lost, I got a boatload of holiday packages including awesome edibles from ribby, a Popcorn Factory bucket of evil from my husband's aunt and uncle and a book on heroines of the Bible from a friend, I got a phone call from my college roommate after weeks of phone tag and since I have no voice she had to do all the talking for a change, I got the new issue of Outdoor Photographer in the mail and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe companion from a friend who works for the publisher, I wrote an article on what would have happened on Threshold had it not been cancelled (Caffrey/Cavennaugh, I knew it) and another on Desperate Housewives' premiere in China (no tabletop sex).

These little wooden cats were a gift to my in-laws. They look so much like Rosie and Cinnamon, except that Rosie would be plunked in front of the dish while Cinnamon would be pouncing on the mouse.

Tomorrow is Miserably Early Morning and I don't want to go out in the cold to walk younger son to school! Older son had a meltdown tonight because he was convinced younger son had stolen his Chapstick (it was in his room). Younger son had a mini-meltdown over socks. Is it the cold, the dark, the impending holidays or me having been sick since Thanksgiving?

  • Poem for Friday and Cabin John Spring

    A Lady red -- amid the Hill By Emily Dickinson A Lady red -- amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid…

  • Poem for Thursday and Carderock Deer

    Killdeer By Nick Flynn You know how it pretends to have a broken wing to lure predators away from its nest, how it staggers just out of reach .…

  • Poem for Wednesday and Canal Turtles

    The Turtle Shrine Near Chittagong By Naomi Shihab Nye Humps of shell emerge from dark water. Believers toss hunks of bread, hoping the fat…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded