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Kirsty Karkow
strong wind--
flowers and leaves turn
inside out
a door slams, and I welcome
a visit from my mother
-Third Prize, North American Tanka Contest 2001
inherited--
long thornless rows
of raspberries
sweet thoughts flow to her
as every basket fills
--Honorable Mention
San Francisco International Haiku, Senryu and Tanka Contest 2005
like clockwork
at breakfast time
she walks by. . .
slightly behind
her growing belly
--Yellow Moon First Place Spring 2006
cool and naked
across the double bed
she naps
under the aspidistra
a pink camisole lies limp
at 2 am
on a moonless night
I do not hear
the passing foxes
or the hunting owl
the flotsam
on my inner shore
somewhat collected
I sit on sun-washed sand
listening to loon calls
there are days
I feel like Aceh
every street
filled by a tsunami
of rapid flowing trash
a tight tee
and jeweled midriff
pregnancy
the care my mother
took to conceal it
dreams
of paradise
shelves
lined with books
and time to read
I think
a hawk must hate
the crows
incessant
paparazzi crows
escaping
my strongest grasp
and skillet
the reindeer ran
back to Sweden
after stopping
to smell each rosebud
on the wall
the adorable chipmunk
eats my strawflowers
if pain
was visible
shades of red
how raucous the glare
from a crowded room
Kirsty Karkow's most recent collection is water poems from Black Cat Press (2005). She is secretary-treasurer of The Tanka Society of America. She resides in Maine with her husband, Ed, and a growing collection of canoes and kayaks.
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