Deborah P Kolodji

 

 

Cinquain   In Paris   Your smile hints of something beyond its painted turn. Leonardo teases, you keep secrets.     Summer of Basil   pesto caught on the blades of the food processor— the green leaves of an herb garden outside     Castle Ruins   the flag once flown proudly over the battlements— crumbling piles of sand where the tide comes in.     Tanka   no sleep tonight in a distant cousin's bed, as lightning illuminates our fear— two sisters from California, huddle in Wisconsin