Published by Poetry Editor on May 31, 2016. This item is listed in Issue 30 Poetry, Poetry

First Lesson

                        Scene: Prince Keng sitting on a rock.
                        The dragon enters, flying down.
 
DRAGON Good morning, Princeling. Have you come to
           admire my magnificence?
 
KENG    My father sent me. He said you would teach me
           to be king.
 
DRAGON Your father? Your father is your greatest
           threat aside from me.
 
                        The dragon menaces the boy, who holds his place.
 
DRAGON Good. You’re brave. You’ll make a fine king.
           Now go away.
 
KENG    That’s all? Don’t you have advice for me?
           I thought….
 
DRAGON An excellent habit for a king, thinking.
           You should try it more often.
 
KENG    [Kneeling] Please. Teach me what a king
           should know.
 
DRAGON A king should know that he cannot know
           all he should know. Men’s lives are
           too short.
 
KENG    Then teach me what I most need to know.
 
DRAGON I tried to do so. Perhaps you weren’t
           paying attention.
 
KENG    You said men’s lives are short. That my
           father is my greatest threat–why? Why is
           he a threat?
 
DRAGON Because men will measure you against him,
           and find you lacking. No matter how hard
           you try, his reputation will outmatch you
           as the tiger outmatches the rabbit.
 
KENG    That would be true of anybody you chose as
           king. No one can equal him.
 
DRAGON No one? As for you, if you ever take the
           throne, I advise you to begin badly.
           Quickly quash people’s hopes. Then any
           mistakes you make will be no more than they
           expect, and any successes will appear the
           greater.
 
KENG   No.
 
DRAGON No?
 
KENG    If I am king, I will do the best I can.
           From the beginning.
 
DRAGON Good.
 
KENG    But you just said I should begin badly–
 

DRAGON Indeed. And I may argue the merits of that
           at a later date. What pleased me is that
           you didn’t blindly agree. However wise his
           advisors, a king should weigh their words
           for himself. And so ends your first lesson.
           You may come back tomorrow.
 
                        Keng bows, turns to leave, turns back.
 
KENG    What would you have done if I’d left when
           you first told me to go?
 
DRAGON Eaten you.
 
 
–Mary Soon Lee

Mary Soon Lee was born and raised in London, but now lives in Pittsburgh. She is working on an epic fantasy in verse, the first book of which has been nominated for the Elgin Award (“Crowned,” Dark Renaissance Books, 2015). The opening poem, “Interregnum,” won the 2014 Rhysling Award for best long poem.
 
Editor’s Image Note: Picture courtesy tumblr.com (artist unknown)

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Published by Poetry Editor on November 27, 2015. This item is listed in Issue 28, Issue 28 Poetry, Poetry

The Wild Horses Came Hastening

     On the rain-blown steppe
     the wild horses came hastening,
     hooves denting the mud.

Warm but wet, that first night
in the horse country,
rain trickling down his neck
as Wen Xun stood sentry duty.

He heard the horses
before he saw them,
unshod hooves sounding
softly on sodden grass.

Eight horses, riderless,
halted on the low hill top
overlooking the king’s camp
by the Guang Yun river.

     Asleep in his tent,
     how could the king summon them?
     What call did they hear?

Wen Xun went into the king’s tent,
woke Captain Li, who woke the king.
Through darkness and rain,
the three men walked up the hill.

King Xau signaled the guards to halt,
went, alone, from horse to horse,
speaking to them,
laying his hands on them.

Wen Xun knew every verse of the song
about wild horses coming to the king.
Witnessing such a thing himself
scared him so much he shook.

     Unbroken, untamed,
     nothing they claimed from him, save
     the touch of his hand.

Wen Xun was still trembling
when the king came over,
set his hand on Wen Xun’s shoulder—
“I’m sorry,” said Wen Xun, mortified.

“It’s all right. Come with us.”
And the king steered him forward
until they stood amid the smell,
heat, breath of the wild horses.

And there, his king beside him,
Wen Xun’s fear lifted clear,
and he trembled not at all
though more horses galloped up.

     Their promise they gave:
     to come if he needed them,
     no matter how far.

At dawn, the horses left.
The three men went down the hill.
Silent. The rain had stopped.
The king’s face was streaked wet.

They hung their coats to dry.
Princess Suyin, already awake,
ran out to join them.
Wen Xun heated breakfast.

The night behind them, unspoken,
as it would have remained unspoken
except that the horses returned,
a dozen times in as many weeks.

     By hill and by stream,
     the wild horses came hastening.
     What call did they hear?

–Mary Soon Lee

Mary Soon Lee was born and raised in London, but has lived in Pittsburgh for over twenty years. The first part of her epic fantasy in verse, “Crowned,” was published by Dark Renaissance Books in June 2015. The opening poem, “Interregnum,” won the 2014 Rhysling Award for Best Long Poem. Her poetry has appeared in American Scholar, Atlanta Review, Dreams & Nightmares, and Star*Line.

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