Category: Tanka
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Day 2
tiny pools of snow along wind-battered off-ramp — tired gas station among the rows of corn stalks — I count each gust, each bluster
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Day 1
every tanka has already been written we sing the rules of counterpoint, seek to replay our past
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Early morning on Lake Shore Drive
maze of brown at the center, trees empty of leaves, row after row stretching to scattered hazel edging the lake, its soft fog settled, tissue-papers, still, grey, jade mist, dull pearl, kingdom come
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7/15
blue jay caws swell the faraway echo, drawing us near our sandy bluff — breezes wrap, spin us round, return us round
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Conversations with my mother, now long-dead
I write to you everyday and each night in my mind — out of sight, out of love, out of repetition. Wearing grooves through stone along the road, my words think they can erase the first set and grind rather new ones or wipe them out altogether, letting me slide free off these memories, into…
