2. Crossing-the-Bridge Noodles*

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             ‘Men are mountains, women are clouds.’

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My love labors to become a scribe,

Rehearsing his hand, perfecting his calligraphy.

Already he has become an island,

Remote as the Emperor he wants to serve,

Distant as the walls of the capital city.

 

Daily I sing to him with my bamboo flute,

And strike the sweetest notes from my gourd.

Only the bamboo bridge tied with twine   

Takes me to him—I and my steaming bowl

Of rice noodles, to appease his constant hunger.

 

But one day he asks me to share his meal,

And I find how he has enriched my love.

With every herb and grub and every bit 

And bite of the earth’s good fruits, he had

Spiced up my humble chicken stock.

 

O I had thought only the clouds 

Are familiar with him—he and his dream

Of scrolls and emperors. Long after

I’d hied him off to far Changan, I shall forever

Reach him on my bridge of bamboo and twine,

      And wafts of my steaming chicken stock.

 

                                         December 19, 1999

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*The chicken stock arrives first. Then plate upon plate of exotic dish. But one must keep his hands off  as the waiter drops each slice, dollop  and dumpling into the steaming center bowl. Then the famous noodles. This as one’s host recounts the legend, at the Over the Bridge Restaurant in Kunming.

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