Wednesday, February 27, 2013


the tailor’s dummy
in my mother’s closet
no hands
no head no name . . .
her shape in my mirror

at the firehouse
a small white sign
safe surrender site
tenderly I swaddle
my orphaned fears

a box of delights
unopened inside me
I search
jungles and oceans
for the key in its lock

the music
breaks open
inside of me
something else
I didn’t know I wanted

through goldenrod
and asters
we catch for a moment
time’s powdered wings

Ribbons 8: 3, winter 2012

1 comment:

  1. a perfect title for this sequence, which I read just this week in ribbons! all strong tanka that work so well together. my v. favorite is the first one, followed by fourth (powerful ending).