Saturday, January 23, 2010

Saturday tanka.

Pancakes from a mix:
I defy any breakfast
to be more wheaty,
more maple-y, quicker
from buttered pan to my plate.

I manicured
just one hand: in my defense,
it was my left hand,
much easier, lacquer-wise.
The other hand went naked.

Subway sandwich, why
are you the easiest out
when it comes down to
negotiating the fast food
lunch, you six-inch peacemaker?

It's Complicated,
a second time, with my aunt:
Santa Barbara,
Meryl & Alec: swell. But
we really want her kitchen.

Tomorrow, I will
bake a birthday cake. It will
have raspberries and
whipped cream frosting. Cake is the
force that gives my life meaning.

O Swedish police
procedural: how you bring
the day definite
closure: though I also find
my dreams a bit murderous--

happy birthday! to Scotland daughter, in a land far far away on the blasted heath--

TAGS: poetic, prosaic, birthday

2 comments:

Amelia said...

Thank you. It was so wonderful to talk to you today.

Renaissance Girl said...

there ain't NOBODY who rocks this blog-genre better than you, sister.

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