the slow hiss
and sudden pop
of a pinecone in fire—
admitting the mistake
is a first step
*
had you lived
we’d almost be twins,
two sisters
so close in time
we nearly touched
*
this urge
to turn and walk away
chokecherry
Mary Kendall (c) 2020
Kokako 32, 2020, a journal of the New Zealand Poetry Society
My thanks to the editors of Kokako for publishing all three poems.
A Thousand Voices,
2019 Tanka Society of America Member’s Anthology
sweet peas,
crab apple blossoms
and old roses—
for part of each day
I become my mother
Two haiku and one tanka in Kokako 29, 2018, a journal of the New Zealand Poetry Society:
where the house
once stood
only cherry blossoms
billowing fog
the burden of keeping
your secret
rosé bottle
the forgiving vagueness
of frosted glass
the morning
after
no attribution for this lovely picture I found online
Presence Issue 61 (2018) / three haiku and one tanka:
1.
a shadow blocks the light unwanted touch
2.
washed up –
this broken shell
once sang the sea
3.
far above
old cotton fields –
migrating swans
4.
thin curls of wood
fly away
from the lathe –
his memory slips
away bit by bit
Redlights, June 2018:
when you were six
I longed to keep you
that age forever
once upon a time
I knew you so well
Dedicated to my son, Adam.
.
Published in Ribbons, Spring/Summer 2018: Volume 14, Number 2
the squeak
of the old swing . . .
only four when carefully taught
to keep that secret
to myself
This tanka was published in the Tanka Café of Ribbons
the little girl’s doll
marred by lipstick
scrawled on her face
. . . maybe this time
mother will notice
