Tanka by Rand B. Lee
1 (upon finding a photo of my late
mother, taken in
My photo album
Stops me at Mother's picture.
Frozen she stands, grim
With triumph, her fish held high,
While on my stove, the tea shrieks.
2 (upon packing my father's memorabilia
to donate to
Done at last, I lug
The packed boxes to the car.
My father's life, stored
For the ages in neat piles.
Who will alphabetize me?
3 (upon receiving a phone call from
a troubled friend)
On the phone, my friend's
Voice makes anguished confession.
I stand awkwardly, in pain
From my dying hip,
While dinner thoughts circle me.
4 (upon waking during the night)
Sleeps on her back near my bed.
Her legs twitch; and, now and then,
She whines, pursuing
Something she never catches.
5 (while looking for house rental
adverts preparatory to eviction in May)
The newspaper sits
Like a dead weight on my desk,
Opened to the housing page.
In two months, homeless.
I think I'll go back to bed.
6 (upon attempting to embrace my
housemate's dog)
My housemate's husky,
Long and lean and white as snow,
Nips me, exasperated
By my refusal
To leave him be. Hugless
again!
7 (during an attack of sciatica)
One moment, my hip
Feels fine; the next, white fire burns.
At such times, suicide seems
Justifiable.
At my feet, my husky yawns.
8 (upon recalling a longlost lover)
When you were with me,
All I wanted was for you
To say, "I treasure your heart."
On the wall above
Me, your photo, furred, dust thick.