On the hydrangeas

the weight of the morning sun

the evening sun


Two tanka for my mother

in wooden armchair
my mother no longer knits
slip, stitch and pass
the piece she made wholeheartedly
was raising a wayward son

the meaning of getting old
my mother told me about
hair loss
I realize how hard it is
to say an early goodbye

1 comment:

diana l. said...

You have captured a feeling that, sadly, I, too, have experienced. I am sorry for your loss. Amen to the last line.