Tanka by Terry Ann Carter

just the way
the light reflects
on my Buddha’s face
no welcome
warmer

morning of my mammogram
I arrange ikebana
nestling the pink breast
of a blossom
between two stones

first night
for the transplanted hydrangea
I cover the roots
and sing a lullaby
under stars

although I SWORE
I’d never say it
YOU CALL THAT MUSIC
at my son’s
bedroom door

so much worry
about your transplanted organ
no time
to appreciate
this cherry petal season

on the opera stage
everyone dying
the straight spine
of the woman
in front of me

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