Summer Palace

By Bod Bradshaw

Just married,
we talked of living in China.
we would be married forever.
Our days would be spent like lotus blossoms
in Kunming Lake.

There would never be any opium wars
or invasions of barbarians.
Our disputes would be small, and settled
in the Hall of Benevolence.

This is how we would live, we said,
even as we began to drift apart.

Decades later, alone,
I think back to the world’s beauty
in Jade Spring Mountain and Fragrant Hill,
and in the slopes of your cheeks,

in your wet eyelashes as we strolled,
hands laced, amid the drifting mists.

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Filed under Issue 5: The Far East, Poetry

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