The crawling wrinkles, rings of a tree,
trace her decades of teaching.
Her eyes flare flames when Red Guards spit, throw mud,
pound at her. They snarl. Several, her students. Red
bands dazzle the young arms. Bright
sunlight, surreal, refuses to kneel.
Her bouffant hair becomes salt marsh weeds.
Dusk creeps in, the filthy pond
smells metallic where another
professor jumped & sank
after such taunting. Red
Guards lie under an old Ginkgo,
gasp, sweat, desperate.
Still standing, she sinks Qi into her
Dan Tian. Her inner energy nullifies
the striking force, channels the madness to
forgiving earth, tremor. The secret training
of Wu Shu casts her into a statue. Her
Lips clench, eyes squint, sneer, sneer.