“Ode To Chopsticks” was previously published in the author’s collection, Odes & Laments (Caitlin Press, 2019).
Grandfather sets the bowl full of marbles before me.
I pick up the chopsticks and hover,
then picture my hand as a heron
with a long, long beak plunging down
to pluck each orb, lift it
through air and held breath
in a tremulous trip toward the saucer.
Five thousand years of evolution in hand:
branches honed to stir ancient cauldrons
become sleek batons of ivory, gold or jade
adorning an aristocrat’s table.
With their deft dance and dip,
more adroit than a fork.
Twin acrobats poised
to hoist choice morsels—
crisp shard of duck skin,
noodle strands, fish cheeks,
single green pea.
Let your elders lead, he tells me,
Never point your chopsticks at a guest.
Never spear your food like a fisherman.
Don’t tap the side of your bowl like a beggar.
Keep them by the plate when you rest
or across the bowl at meal’s end. But never
upright like incense burning
in an urn for the dead.
While he watches, stiff bamboo
grows nimble. One by one
each small glassy planet arcs up
then lands with a clink!
The bowl gleams, empty.
Grandfather nods.
