What to Say Next
(a tanka sequence)

her words
stir something deep
at a loss
I cast my line
in shallow waters
 
invisible fence
on a yard we walk by
the dog paces
while I ponder
what to say next

not listening
I ask her to repeat
what she said ...
even on a placid lake
our kayaks drift apart

sudden rain
during our fight — 
not thinking
we work together
to close the windows

a tremble
in her voice
between the words 
I switch the phone
to my other ear

last year’s leaves
scattered on the ground
after the hearing
we walk without speaking
to our cars, still holding hands





To My Apartment


I’ll never forget 
our first night together — 
you with your new furniture,
me sitting there
so satisfied
after that last shopping trip 
suddenly realizing
we have no toilet paper.

I kept you as clean as I could — 
sorry about those holes in the wall
and that junk mail piling up. 

We didn’t have much company — 
the cable guy,
an escort or two;
most of the time
it was just me and you.

You must have heard
my phone conversations.
 
You probably know
all my secrets — 
that hair club fiasco,
the Russian dating web site,
other sites I’d rather not mention.

That time
I got hopelessly lost
and came back exhausted
cursing MapQuest
you welcomed me home
with open arms.

The night after my divorce 
I cried myself to sleep
on your shoulder.

Lately I haven’t been here much
and you’ve felt distant and cold;
partly my fault
for setting the temperature low.

I always liked your countertops;
I don’t think I ever told you that.

It’s no use pretending
we’ll ever see each other again.
I’ll just leave this by the sink
and say goodbye
and thanks
for everything.



Credits:   “her words” originally published in Red Lights 9.1; “invisible fence” originally published in Ribbons 8.3; “not listening” originally published in A Hundred Gourds 4.1; “sudden rain” originally published in Cattails May 2015;”a tremble” originally published in Mongarlic 3"; “last year’s leaves” highly commended in Fifth Annual Kokako Tanka Competition