Apologies to Li Qingzhao
White silk adorns her falsely slender frame.
Another spring night falls, she must endure.
Beneath her eyes, thin plum stains, past hurts made up to look as new.
Cloud-like, she has woven herself a hologram of light.
Word upon word, mercurial song moves through
her down-turned painted mouth. A tease, she knows.
Leaving time--peach blossoms thick along the trail.
She watches for the shallow in the river, crosses.
The sky unobstructed. The moon, a penetrating gaze.
She was once valued like jade at the Imperial Court.
Regretfully, no more.
Youth's brightness never circles round again.
Jill MacCormack
With sincere thanks to Andrew Griffin for his translation from the Li Qingzhao original and to John MacKenzie for sharing his version and Andrew's translation with me.
And thank you to my dear son Lucas MacCormack for the lovely moon photo.
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