Margaret Chula: A Selection of Tanka

November morning
I help Mother
write her obituary
    wisps of fog
    shroud the maple leaves



meditation
there’s always something
to let go of
    the long slant of ash
        on the incense stick



cleaning out
Mother’s lingerie drawer
the tears in her stockings
sewn up so tightly—
all my unanswered questions



 yesterday’s desires
    what were they?
       a vase
    without flowers
holds only itself



walking the path
through the dark garden
moonlight shines
on the flower
with no scent

A selection of tanka by Margaret Chula. Text as published in Just This: Tanka (Mountains and Rivers Press, 2013). © Margaret Chula. Presented here by poet submission.

Art credit: Untitled image by unknown photographer.