Long before
I knew of Kung-Fu
(and all hares
were rabbits)
we lay stretched out
my uncle & I
pinned to a hillside
the world creating itself
as a little boy
painting it would
all blue sky & fluffy white cloud
green grass
painted just so
...so, perfect.
Birds transforming
the air into song
& here even
a hare
so near
you can see
every hair
in exquisite detail
sitting beside us
as if he was
one of us
as if he was
about to say:
“Good day…lovely day
isn’t it? ”
But before
he could say it
my uncle
moving without moving
(I hardly even saw him
leave his stillness)
Kung-fu’d
the little chap
(only the sound
of a quick slap)
with the anonymous anger
of the back of his hand
both hare
& I
quivering with shock
“Well, boy...
that’s one for the pot! ”
I got sick
with the twist of the neck
my uncle
chortling
popping him
in his pocket.
That night
everyone ate greedily
praised the stew
praised my uncle too.
I
(not hungry)
crying in bed
...still looking into
the hare’s eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Donall, Excellent poem...excellent poet. A spare, simple story told with elegance, through a boy's heart. Peace, Ray