People often wonder which Mei Clark will show up when they invite her to a business luncheon, a neighborhood barbecue or a family get-together.
There are two Mei Clarks: the earnest woman who sits in the accounting department at Mountain America Credit Union and tries to make order of the massive flow of paperwork that never stops. And the lighthearted Mei who writes poetry on napkins and deposit slips before the thoughts fly away like wild geese in winter.On this particular afternoon, the poet Mei (pronounced May) is sitting across from me at Le Parisien, delicately sipping a Free Lunch of soup du jour. She has left her business suit and briefcase at home, opting instead to wear a beautiful black velvet blouse sprinkled with gold oriental flowers.
There is an explanation for Mei's elegant attire: She has decided to prove her parents wrong. When she telephoned them in Taiwan two years ago to announce that she had become a poet, her mother was shocked. "What kind of money is there in poetry?" she told Mei. "Don't you know that all poets die in poverty?"
Mei laughs at the memory. "I was always the quiet and obedient one in the family," she says. "I guess I shook them up."
It has been 25 years since Mei moved to Salt Lake City from the small Taiwanese village of Shan Jiao, but only recently has she been able to shake the feeling of worthlessness that she'd carried most of her life.
Physically abused and forced to work long hours in the family grocery for much of her childhood, "I always wanted to prove that I was worth something in this life," says Mei, a diminutive woman with a quick smile and silken black hair. "My mother always told me that I was of no value."
It wasn't until four years ago, when Mei began having hot flashes and recurring dreams, that she found a cure for her longtime sadness. "Sweat just poured off me," she recalls. "I thought something was seriously wrong, that maybe I was dying."
A doctor finally diagnosed her with early menopause and prescribed an estrogen patch to put an end to the symptoms. But the dream played on, again and again. "I kept dreaming that I was writing poetry and translating ancient wisdom," says Mei. "Finally, I thought, 'Maybe this is what I am supposed to do. Maybe this is my way to be of value in life.' "
Although she knew nothing about poetry, Mei picked up a pen and began jotting down her thoughts on everything from the beauty of the rice fields in her old village to the struggles of working 9 to 5. For nearly two years, she wrote at least one poem every day, until little scraps of paper began taking over her bedroom, kitchen, living room, even her desk at work.
"It was like I was trying to capture my lost years," says Mei, who also began reading children's books -- a pleasure she never experienced as a child. "I'd write standing up in the bathroom, I'd write lying down in bed. Today I tell everyone, 'This is my second life.' "
Mei has now published three books of poetry and is busy littering her home with poems for a fourth. Recently, she completed a poem about the millennium, which she put on coffee cups so her office pals and other friends can enjoy some thoughtful verse with their morning wake-me-up.
Sometimes Mei fantasizes about leaving her office job and writing full-time. But then, she does not want to gamble that her mother might be right. "Like everyone else, I have to keep up with the bills," says Mei. "But at least now, I have an outlet. I have found a purpose in my life."
Have a story? Let's do lunch. E-mail your name, phone number and what's on your mind to freelunch@desnews.com or send a fax to 466-2851. You can also write me at the Deseret News, P.O. Box 1257, Salt Lake City, UT 84110.