Chrysanthemum's Song
This poem is dedicated to unwilling butterflies, wherever you are.
The season's first typhoon brought violent winds
And drenching torrents of storm-driven rain.
Most people had gone home and left the streets,
The shops and traders’ stalls, the bars and clubs,
Deserted, save for butterflies like me.
While Mama-san cursed at the angry storm,
I sang romantic ballads to my friends,
And brushed aside their gentle-hearted teasing,
The saddest songs soothed our wasted lives,
And bound our bonds of friendship tight.
I sang about a broken-hearted girl,
Who took a sharpened blade to end her life,
Yet, as the dagger pierced her naked breast,
And she lay cold near death, her love returns
To save her life and take her home at last.
A young man appeared at our door alone,
As Mama-san worried at her meagre profit,
She'd gladly see the honest seaman skinned,
She fussed and grumbled at the pouring rain,
And led him, childlike, by the hand to me.
Before I left the stage to please her guest,
And give my body, our triad’s gain,
To yet another man whom I’d not know,
My friends asked me to sing another song;
I sang of longing, yearning to be free.
A sad and bitter song of youthful grief,
A child in bondage begging for her life,
Is sold again as she becomes a woman,
Another chattel, craving to be unbound;
A butterfly without a shred of hope.
Who cares that our bodies' sale and purchase
Are violent acts against us, your daughters?
My stomach twists with loathing at your blindness
To our deep suffering of your lustful pride,
Why make a child or woman suffer thus?
And when I stepped down from the narrow stage
I did as Mama-san expected me to,
I gently played my fingers about his neck,
And holding my face so close to his own,
I tendered my rose-scented body.
As Mama-san relieved him of his cash,
I sighed as he bought me to use that night;
Then I saw light, a light behind his eyes,
Like firelight in the shadows of my mind,
My ebbing tide of courage turned to flood.
Was he this dying woman’s love returned?
We hailed a passing cab amid the rain;
Winds raged and tore along the flooded streets,
As neon lights danced on the hotel’s windows,
Reflecting on the bedroom's panelled walls.
I deftly stripped his sodden clothes and mine,
We bathed, and naked, I exposed the bruises
About my tender breasts, and he did see
The risks inherent in our daily work;
What man shall soothe our anguished tears?
That gentle boy made no haste to have me,
Instead, I lay unused, safe by his side.
I read men by my fingers' subtle touch,
And found his soul, his needs and fair nature,
And by return, I gave him all I owned.
My true name is Chrysanthemum, Chu-Hua.
And then I wept, revealing how my parents
Sold me as a servant on my brother's birth;
And how this unruly girl was sold again,
To earn her freedom, serving men each day.
For once, I chose to trust a man and fled,
Hiding my face from the triad's eyes
In empty cabs and poor discarded whores;
And splashing through deserted neon streets,
I seized him by his offered hand, and hoped.
The season's first typhoon brought violent winds
And drenching torrents of storm-driven rain.
Most people had gone home and left the streets,
The shops and traders’ stalls, the bars and clubs,
Deserted, save for butterflies like me.
While Mama-san cursed at the angry storm,
I sang romantic ballads to my friends,
And brushed aside their gentle-hearted teasing,
The saddest songs soothed our wasted lives,
And bound our bonds of friendship tight.
I sang about a broken-hearted girl,
Who took a sharpened blade to end her life,
Yet, as the dagger pierced her naked breast,
And she lay cold near death, her love returns
To save her life and take her home at last.
A young man appeared at our door alone,
As Mama-san worried at her meagre profit,
She'd gladly see the honest seaman skinned,
She fussed and grumbled at the pouring rain,
And led him, childlike, by the hand to me.
Before I left the stage to please her guest,
And give my body, our triad’s gain,
To yet another man whom I’d not know,
My friends asked me to sing another song;
I sang of longing, yearning to be free.
A sad and bitter song of youthful grief,
A child in bondage begging for her life,
Is sold again as she becomes a woman,
Another chattel, craving to be unbound;
A butterfly without a shred of hope.
Who cares that our bodies' sale and purchase
Are violent acts against us, your daughters?
My stomach twists with loathing at your blindness
To our deep suffering of your lustful pride,
Why make a child or woman suffer thus?
And when I stepped down from the narrow stage
I did as Mama-san expected me to,
I gently played my fingers about his neck,
And holding my face so close to his own,
I tendered my rose-scented body.
As Mama-san relieved him of his cash,
I sighed as he bought me to use that night;
Then I saw light, a light behind his eyes,
Like firelight in the shadows of my mind,
My ebbing tide of courage turned to flood.
Was he this dying woman’s love returned?
We hailed a passing cab amid the rain;
Winds raged and tore along the flooded streets,
As neon lights danced on the hotel’s windows,
Reflecting on the bedroom's panelled walls.
I deftly stripped his sodden clothes and mine,
We bathed, and naked, I exposed the bruises
About my tender breasts, and he did see
The risks inherent in our daily work;
What man shall soothe our anguished tears?
That gentle boy made no haste to have me,
Instead, I lay unused, safe by his side.
I read men by my fingers' subtle touch,
And found his soul, his needs and fair nature,
And by return, I gave him all I owned.
My true name is Chrysanthemum, Chu-Hua.
And then I wept, revealing how my parents
Sold me as a servant on my brother's birth;
And how this unruly girl was sold again,
To earn her freedom, serving men each day.
For once, I chose to trust a man and fled,
Hiding my face from the triad's eyes
In empty cabs and poor discarded whores;
And splashing through deserted neon streets,
I seized him by his offered hand, and hoped.
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| Photo by David Cain on Unsplash |
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