Spicy 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. That resentment may be a reason why some men hesitate to cast an amorous look in her direction.
But today is different. In the dimly lit Tai restaurant, she sports a hint of a 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 noodles from our spicy soup, 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
the wild rose
flush with buds
This is a revision of a haibun that was published in Haiku Harvest, 5:1, 2007.