Margaret Chula
Even the Weeds
On the eighth day of the ninth month in Japan, my sisters and I place silk covers over the chrysanthemums in our gardens to absorb the evening dew.
after the rain
settling like tears
on the petals
even the weeds
look more beautiful
On the morning of the Chrysanthemum Festival, we wrap these garments around our bodies, a custom observed since the Heian era. The freshness of morning dew promises to ward off evil and lead to a healthy old age.
hopeful as the rising sun
these brightly colored petals
float in my bath water
like me, a flower display
without a container
Even the sake we drink is infused with chrysanthemum petals. When the festival comes to an end, we fold up our summer cotton garments in washi paper and store them in the tansu. Tomorrow we will air out our winter clothes in the cool morning air.
it is said that pearls
placed in the mouths of the dead
will preserve our bodies
I sing to myself
the songs of my girlhood
About the Author
Margaret Chula has been writing haiku, haibun, and tanka for over forty years. One Leaf Detaches (haiku) was awarded a Touchstone Distinguished Book Award in 2019. Her new haibun memoir, Firefly Lanterns: Twelve Years in Kyoto, received a NYC 2022 Big Book Award in Multicultural Nonfiction. Maggie lives in Portland, Oregon, and enjoys hiking in the Columbia River Gorge.
beautiful