Monday, July 20, 2015

Undertow Tanka Review, Issue 1, August 2014

f i s s u r e s
and (whose) fault lines
cracking open
we try to mend the damage
of our quaking lives

African sun
honed on a rasp of sky
leaking ichor
our hands are stained
with the blood of child-soldiers

she held
her daughter's lips
to a mirror
no baby's breath
bloomed in the garden

on the beach
at low tide
you still make me
weak in the knees

our years roll by
like runaway trains
gathering speed
the closer we come
to the end of the line

of war zones
with no legs to walk
along the path to peace

sun rays
palpate mossy loam
on the forest floor
a nursery log suckles fungi
oh, to wean myself
from you

this alchemy
of ripened clementines
and woodsmoke
the fragrance of my past
both curse and benediction

or tirades cursed
every meal
we lost weight eating
degradation for dessert

the widow sinks
into depression's palette
her life's pigment
once the richest saffron
now Vincent's shade of blue

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