Tanka
"A poet is a
person
who can find his own way
by moonlight,"
I hiss through clenched teeth...
the look on her face
heavy
snowfall...
her empty side of the bed
weighs down
the night meant to be
a world of our own
one by
one
rejection emails arrive...
I watch
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
twice in one night
a
pet morgue
opens on this sunny day—
few people attend
a memorial service
for John and Jane Doe
nine autumns
past...
puffy bags under my eyes
nights out
with Mother who lives
an ocean away
I listen
in the midnight
of my soul
to the sound of words
fighting against words
you're a
poet
with your head in the clouds
she gives me
the Bodhisattva look...
this starless midsummer night
I'm
tired
of hearing my own voice—
one howl
breaking many shadows
on this moonlit night
hometown
memories
lingering in a corner
of my mind—
a line of geese
on the subway mosaic
pressing
my face
against the bosom
of memory…
for the first time I feel
how the hunger for love speaks
(for bell hooks)
