I bought a chop in China,

instead of pearls, because

I came to work with China,

not on buying tours.

I did not buy the perfect chop of

chicken's blood stone in the antique store.

I left it for the young Chinese scholars

who need both to remember and to hope.

I left it behind because I work in the new China

and not in an antique store.

I bought my chop instead in a cold, tidy

friendship store.

A round sweet girl with too red lips

picked for me

the stone she loved.

It was a cloudy stone of

uncertain origin.

The chop in the antique store was

expensive, but fairly priced.

The chop she loved had a price

that asked too much

and gave too little.

But she could not see this.

She could neither remember nor hope.

She only loved the stone and

her commission.

I came to China to feed my soul for poems,

not for objects to admire.

Now when I use the chop,

I tenderly and firmly

hold the new China

in the palm of my hand.

Maureen Woods McClure

Champing, May, 1996