Sparkler Monthly contest entry

In the land of clouds, the air always smelled of new rain. Fronds of spark and mist would form, floating like dainty lotuses according to Lady Arashi’s whims. Some days it would turn stormy, but nestled in silks, Fuji would enjoy the far off thunder.

She composed in the courtyard, intricate paper spread out before her. Her many layered robes provided a vivid backdrop. Lady Arashi always ensured the most beautiful paper for her poems, though her poems were no longer a simple affair.

She would start in spring rains, a theme building on….fog. Her mind drifted and cranes flew up from the paper. Much kinder than the ones she had known before, they rose to the air in a twisting dance. She watched them, distracted as the words and feeling dissipated into mist.

No, the metaphor would have to be stronger.

If she could find the fulcrum, she could construct the poem. Yet with new rules and a new life, applying old ones seemed crass and ungainly. She had memorized every poem in the Kokinshū, until she could read them aloud with perfect dictation. In this world of summer storms, she had no fear of being ostracized from the court, no other wives to take her place.

The warm thrum of the ball, the dragon’s heart she guarded reminded her of that promise. The ball glowed brighter, the air parted, electrified for a moment. Lady Arashi reached out and cupped Fuji’s half-written poem breath in her hands.

“Another love poem?” Lady Arashi said. She smiled, and reached out the touch the edge of Fuji’s sleeves. “Are you courting me all over again?”

“The poems I spoke were not my own. Even if they touched you, it is hardly fitting,” Fuji said.

“So dutiful and romantic,” Lady Arashi said. Her voice was filled with such fondness.

She sat beside Fuji. Her flowing robes were the blue of falling rain, the gray of clouds, and all the shades of sky and water in-between.

“The poems you said were from your heart. The world changed because of it, and I was saved because of it,” Lady Arashi said.

Everything in her world had been the <I>waka</I>, the preparation of a court life. But with her new poetry, all the roads had changed. This was nothing like memorizing other people’s works and deeds. No structure to work with, no history. Just Lady Arashi’s patience and adoration.

She remembered the glint of moonlight and wistaria. With new inspiration, she began to jot down the words. An image of a golden fish lifted from the paper before the dark ink even dried.

It was spring when I met you
a glint of gold
across the garden pond.

Lady Arashi inclined her head. “A work of such beauty should have hundreds of poems in response.”

She hid her face in her sleeves. “Then I will write you thousands in return,” Fuji said.