pi & anne

Tanka are a vessel for holding tough things. I don’t want to add “in a beautiful way”. I would rather prefer to say “in a way that is necessary”. Sometimes a poem stabs you, shooting out of the dark alley of your being.

bloody uterus,
when will you
finally stop
hurling at me
probabilities—

i can’t smell the plum bossoms
in this strange inner-city suburb
haven’t I left
most of myself behind, too?

I have been busy writing four line tanka, and five lines, too (posted on Bluesky). These are all from the last few days. And yes, I do love pivot lines, they let the poem take on the shape of a trifold. I can write philosophical, political, personal, playful, and yes, pretty (and not everything must be about love!).

the truth is we lost
as we began to look
the other way
augmented
reality

I refuse to write about love
melting butter until golden
if for no other reason
only without being asked
when it’s time

I described writing tanka in my second book like this:

“At a certain point in/between the lines, the brain switches to the heart.”

At some point in my life I vowed not to let them fight forever, but to find a way to reconcile. That’s why I love tanka! I can keep my promise!

I lean into our talk
with a sudden jolt forward
a door slams open
then shut

dazzling white roofs
and a steady fall of snow
I curl up, highly pleased in the knowing
this is how good sound looks like

pine wood and rain
i slip into his imprint
because he has gone
to work
as a case of I’ll be back soon

as lyrical
as a songbird
can be
I say
no