Bowl 11: Kang

 

I see him at the edge of the pond

cutting wild greens . . . 

long, slender, graceful,

with just the barest of buds at the tip.

"onions," i ask

"garlic," he replies,

and suddenly i am aware of the deep earthy scent that is at the start of all great food.

"good for cooking, " he says

"and, good medicine."

a researcher in a modern lab, he is trying to understand autoimmune disease . . .

and has carried the knowledge of medicinal plants and ancient remedies

with him from China to Boston via Texas and Michigan.

"you can use it for soup," I say and nod at the bowl.

"for tea," he says, " it is a bowl for tea."

Bowl Ten: Kairsten

Airport terminal.
out of time.
out of space.

Kairsten,
in dreads,
feather in her hat,
a sweet smile,
looked up from her music as i sat beside her.

i just bought my first clay ever, she tells me
and shows me an image of her painting --
all brilliant color and eye of horus,
and buddha dancing on the cracked screen of her phone.

NYC sisters at Logan
each on our way to somewhere else;
making a brief connection in this wide, wide world.

Bowl 9: Joanne and Margaret

 

 A badling of ducklings on the shore

all fluffy browns and yellows.

Twelve in all.

Watched over by mama, 

a large Canada goose,

Joanne and Margaret.

I join them.

After a bit I offer a bowl

and as I am photographing

bedlam breaks loose.

The goose has ventured too close to the babies.

Mama duck has her by the leg,

and despite being half her size

has dragged her away and left her limping.

The buddha said, 

"Love all beings as a mother loves her only child."

and our hearts break,

loving them all . . .

goose,

mama,

and each of the twelve ducklings.

Bowl 8: Mette

walking downtown
streets packed with people
sun warm with the coolness of early spring.
me, feeling vulnerable
especially since I've invited you in.

watching my mind
watching people. . .

too young
too old
too straight
too hip
too busy
too spaced out
too many judgements!

I flee to the relative quiet of the library courtyard
and circle it slowly
once, twice, three times
breathing, calming . . .

then i see a family snuggled in a corner.
mom, dad, new baby - so sweet . . .
i offer my name, and a bowl
they accept.
what is your name? the mom replies,
Mette . . M.E.T.T.E.
ah, like metta, I sigh.