nav bar

 

 

 

Spicy Noodle Soup

 

The Vietnamese restaurant is dimly lit, just a few tables, fewer people. The two of us, old friends, scan the menu and order noodle soup.

"I'm okay with living alone," she has often said. "I can't give myself over to one demanding man."

Yet, it has been a long dry spell for her: no romance, no lovers, none of the physical contact that she craves. She had become increasingly resentful that the world of men render women in their 50s invisible.

But today is different. She sports a wide smile and even giggles, a sound that I usually associate with teen-aged girls, as she announces, "I have a lover. I met him several weeks ago."

Good for her, I think to myself. We slurp the spicy noodles, our foreheads beading with sweat.

Her eyes are sparkling. "It may be love, I don't know, I don't care," she says. "I've jumped off the cliff."

I don't say, I hope it's a long way to the bottom.

late spring romance –
a thorn bush
flush with wild roses

 

red bar

Ray Rasmussen, Haiku Harvest, 2005; reprinted in Haibun Today, 2/14/07.

 

 

page 1 page 2 HOMEPAGE INDEX-POETS Previous Page next page INTRODUCTION CREDITS email