red light tanka

The following poems appeared in the journal red lights.

 

the moon

is barely

a sliver

and you’ve

unpinned your hair

 

 

late night

he slurs his goodnight

but the ice

in his glass

cracks crisply

 

 

unseen now

for half a century

the wallpaper

beneath

the wallpaper

 

 

family feud . . .

the way richard dawson

kissed all those women

when my father was away

on his long, distant trips

 

 

i speak to you

for the first time

in years

your dates

cut into stone

 

 

no moon

perhaps the things

you meant to say

one day

the clouds will form

 

 

a long commute

you were gone in the morning

but home at night . . .

it rose and fell,

your love, like tides

 

 

dusk,

a mother’s voice

announces dinner . . .

the dust aches

unable to answer

 

 

the sudden scent

of popcorn and elephant

and what i could not conjure then—

oh, to have made love

to the tattooed lady

 

 

summertime

a boy leans over

a riverbank

with a foot raised

over the world

 

 

aa meeting

the faint scent

of club soda

my father’s kiss

goodnight

 

 

like Monet

i would do it all

over again

with a few slight changes

in color and tone