Contemprary Tanka Poet Mariko Kitakubo.

as if I am
repairing my feelings
a bit at a time
I paint my nails
slowly and carefully

in the deep silence
of scorching midday heat,
my mother's spine
remembers
our wartime defeat

on a far-off sandhill
you shade your eyes--
I want to be
that small object
in your gaze

I have no way
of being really sure
about things,
yet my nails are growing
so confidently<

maybe it's better
not to know the depth
of her wounds--
tranquilly I asked
"how many sugar lumps"

how small
I really am
here between
a potato field
and the wide sky

like clouds
vanishing from a puddle
that morning
my father
silently disappeared

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