From the scarlet Sun of the distant East,
she’s an almond-eyed porcelain goddess –
draped in fabric slowly spun
by five-thousand silkworms.
Rice paper fan clutched in gentle hand,
she postures for her Miyako Odori –
a graceful cherry blossom dance.
Groomed for this moment since childhood,
she’s the perfection of etiquette.
In the centuries of old,
her ancestors danced
for the Emperor –
virginity on sale
to the highest bidder.
Out of respect for them,
she dances in their footsteps –
daughters of fallen cherry blossoms.
© Literary Remains