Bob Bradshaw 

The Lesson of the River

Each morning my husband Sheng meets his mistress.
She is young and as slender as a willow.
She plays a Liuqin and sings sweetly.

I come from a village where pigs
and dogs sweep the floor of the school.

I would not discourage Sheng
from bringing his mistress

into our house as a wife. But I do not
encourage it either.

Last month a woman was lowered
inside a pig's cage into deep water

for cheating on her husband.
Sheng approved of the punishment

while my lover and I remained as silent
as stones along the river's bottom.

Into the ancient pond
A frog jumps
Water's sound!;    --a poem by Basho, Translated by D.T. Suzuki  

Each spring the Japanese Tea Garden Reopens

I stick to the old garden's well marked paths,
the defined boundaries

and the first thing I notice
is how the young women have grown younger.

All winter I've waited
for the tall bamboo gates to open,
for the bright faces of koi
and cherry blossom
to reappear.

Young couples drift around the pond,
and I am forever excluded
from their circle. They are not
aware of the distance
that ripens between us.

Or of the resonance I hear
when a frog jumps into the pond
like a mischievous boy.