I am in the Humble Administrator’s Garden
in China. One most of you will know from
its image rendered into perfect stillness
on china cups and saucers.
As a child I gazed deeply into that
painted landscape. I would enter
the path that twisted among unfamiliar
shrubs, purposefully placed rocks
as I strolled under dripping Willows
enchanted by miniature waterfalls.
I always met a Chinese Princess
taking tiny tortured steps across a bridge
on her tightly bound Lotus feet.
She never smiled, stoic in her pain.
Over her shoulder a parasol kept
sun’s burning fingers from her perfect
ivory skin.
Now suffering from jet lag, I listen to
the tour guide recite the garden’s long
history; the beauty of its trees and rocks
obscured by swirls of sweating tourists.
I close my eyes and see the cool blue
garden of my childhood – at this particular
moment, the one I prefer.
– Lois H Davis
