I was out walking yesterday and, as I always do at this time of year, stopping to admire the glossy fur coats of magnolia buds and feeling impatient for the appearance of the blossoms. That generally happens in May around here; still a long time to wait. When I got home, I dug out this tanka I’d written in May of 2009.
Early May. As light
rain whispers open the white
do you remember how these
lips murmured over your thighs?