Sunday, November 24, 2013

tanka



I had surgery on Friday.  Today I wrote this tanka,  it has been changed into a tanka sequence.  It was accepted for publication.  I was thrilled.


Coming Out


shrouded in mist
I wear a torn place
on my sleeve —
turning like a mirror
on a string

a key
in a lock,
I have
no more tongue
than a wound

beads
of an abacus—
the shed skin
of a snake remembers
what it once held

calculating
all the ways I numbed myself
casting minute
after minute into the wind . . .
taking off the mask

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