Christine L. Villa
Selected Tanka...
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all these things
we kept avoiding to talk about . . . the built-up fluff in the dryer lint trap pink clouds behind skeletal trees . . . nothing stirs as I still wait for a wisp of hope the broken glass of the clock I gave you . . . blaming myself, I wait for the night to dream of you only remembering how he loved me . . . in a clear brook white clouds gather in my hands the full moon two huge for my heart I walk alone in the growing scent of magnolia |
what lies
behind the mauve shades of mountain dusk . . . how I long to know if you're waiting for me mountain echo . . . I ask myself again and again who will take care of me when I grow old his stand on chemotherapy . . . a bluebird’s cry nestles in the palm of sunrise where petals unfurl into subtle shades like the clouds in the sky I am a birdsong waiting to be heard
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Last Sip: A Tanka Sequenceparched lips . . . for you I draw a well of memories from steel drum music to the sound of waves a sparrow’s last sip from the birdbath . . . on your birthday how I didn’t want to believe in your goodbyes my thoughts spinning counterclockwise the silence after I decide to turn off the oxygen machine streaks of foam tail away from the reef . . . how I remember your wishes for me when you’re gone |
