Pomegranate blossoms

Newlyweds fly to their cottages like swallows. Meanwhile, a woman takes a bath alone. The shade of a tung tree moves toward noon as she rests with a fan of white silk in her hand. She wakes up as wind rattles bamboo in her yard. Someone knocks on her embroidered door, but no one is allowed to enter the fairies home. She wears red, like pomegranate blossoms, delicate, her heart folded inward in knots. She’s frightened by the autumn wind, afraid it will scatter her petals and burn her leaves. Tears like pollen fall on the grass.