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by Tse Hao Guang
Peering down at a man who I am told
did tai chi mornings, I must have for I am told
told grandma, and she understood.
I am told there is a balance to all things
just like pebbles skimming on pools
like the angle of feet, or so I am told.
To tai chi also means to shift the blame,
stance held, then at once swept clean
to another, another place, angle, stone.
We left because it was returning to China,
I am told, so no more master, no one
defining style of taking the flighty task
of telling a history of self and skipping it
clear across the water, thousands of such skips
in all, to the place where I am told
what the other meaning of tai chi is.
Maybe grandma blames me for no
longer understanding, but look:
his feet root, hands pattern chaos, still
balanced as genealogies roll from
shoulder to shoulder. Who showed him how? Editors' Note: "The Tai Chi Master" first appeared in |