A Tanka Sequence
a list
of her new demands...
I stare
at the dust motes
drifting in our room
she is not dead
and yet not alive...
gaping silence
between the two of us
who share the same bed
she's gone...
I roll over
and face the wall,
only the ticks
of our wedding clock
all that
remains of my ten-year
marriage:
nail holes in the walls
and a pile of bills
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicely crafted poem.Thanks forsharing.