In Gion, behind screen doors
tea and sake flow between conversations, late
into the open night air, a geisha lures
melodies from her Shamisen, fingers fluid,
and, her guests long to see more.

She bows low, smiles faintly, and kneels to pour
all her training into bone white china,
banter and demeanor measured just as carefully,
each incense stick biding her time.

Graceful as a Morning Glory, she briefly lifts her lids,
a snowy wrist glides from her kimono to pour,
her admirers nod and watch keenly
with eyes that peel at her binding.

A slender face, pristine as porcelain
with soft creams, red lips, lowered lids,
and a hairpin of Cherry Blossoms, she is
ripe for the season; her season has arrived.

In glowing green she is bound at the waist, parceled
in layers of satin—

crisp bamboo spray across
the forest of her torso,
muddy hills plunge into waters of indigo
along the shores of her thighs,
like sapphires, water shimmers with silver crests
in the bay, cranes wading, rippling
into the metallic reflection
of a waning moon.

06/26/2006

Author's Note: Revised version of Geisha

Posted on 06/26/2006
Copyright © 2024 Julie Adams