Untitled Tanka (1)
By Anna Cates our tattered flag sinksthe flagpole melts intoa molten puddle . . .Red October—let’s hopewe don’t live to see it!
Toil & Trouble
By Anna Cates we can’t blame iton witchcraft . . .in a single bubble rainbow colorsbloat and belchputrid portents on a drying lakewhere birds cease to ventureour error’s peak how lonelythat dark mountain . . .a threatened bee seeking harborin cleansing nectar . . .our rallying cry let it bein fragrant bloomsour altar of amens
Dining Out . . .
By: Anna Cates, Wilmington, Ohioand Steve Van Allen, Cincinnati, Ohio even on gray daysthe sun fights to silver sheenbeyond cloud cover We held the door for a lady, dragging two wheeled suitcases, balancing a shopping bag on one. Her long black coat was nice, years ago. She parked her bags inside the door and shuffled to the counter. "I have 4 dollars," dragging wrinkled ones from a pocket. "Keep your money; I'll cover it," said the manager. We took our order and began eating. When the manager swung by our booth, we thanked her. "I'm from Louisiana. I was homeless, and…
Day Three in Siem Reap
By: Anna Cates, Wilmington, Ohioand Steve Van Allen, Cincinnati, Ohio A kilometer from Ankor Wat, at Ta Prohm, a Mahayana 12th century Buddhist temple. Huge fig trees hang over the temple and spread across the ground. Moss grows green over the temple stones.I walk around the walls and note three young saffron-robed monks sitting around a campfire. They call out, "Sok subai," and wave. I wave back and walk on. When I get back to my driver, I ask what the phrase means. He says, "Are you happy?" In decades since, I have often wondered, am I happy? The US…
MAID*
By Anna CatesWilmington, Ohio, USA . . . and she wilts like wet paper,her watercolor life bleeding pink across unfinished pages, the faintest pink, like the weakest sunset, where purple fails and pales, thinning, her voice, their voices, mortal voices, angel voices, demon voices, choices, choices, such agonizing choices . . . fragrant chrysanthemums . . . prayer threads*Medical Assistance in Dying, Canada’s euthanasia program, legal since 2016 and expanded in 2021 to include those suffering without foreseeable death.
Insurance?
By Steve Van Allen - Cincinnati, Ohio, USA, EarthAnna Cates - Wilmington, Ohio, USA Sugar-Pie is third in line at the pharmacy, six feet behind number two. As she walks down the allergy aisle, she often wonders if her mother cursed her into diabetes. The pharmacy is busy; it always is. Finally, "Can I help you?" "My name is Sugar-Pie. I have one prescription to pick up. My birthday is August 14." "Here it is. That will be $280." She feels faint and holds onto the counter. "It was $40 last month!" "You are into your donut hole. Spend another…
Plastic Apocalypse
By Anna CatesWilmington, Ohio, USA “Doomsday is quite within our reach, if we will only stretch for it.”—Loudon Wainwright III Time moves counterclockwise to heal the breach.Do we dare to name it, to face what we betray?Toxic world; do we dare to eat a peach?Time moves counterclockwise to heal the breachWhile those who long for doomsday reach—The fruition of our blunder, Orwellian, they say.Time moves counterclockwise to heal the breach.Do we dare to name it, to face what we betray? golden tonesof a seaside sparrowwho will listen?
Ode to the Dragon Rider
By Anna CatesWilmington, Ohio, USA I have panted for green placesstanding before statues:admirable men to questionable menmortals on horses, Confederate generalsto conquistadors, cowboy cliches, Marlboro Menof deceptive advertising, the old and uglyeven the beautiful, masterfully chiseled cold stoneor too hot to touch in record-breaking heatleaving a thirst for boundless verdancyan infinity of flowers and trees, a landof clear water and skies, for you and meand every peaceful Ferdinand.* Ride fiery dawnon a monstrous snakewith wings! *In Munro Leaf’s children’s classic, The Story of Ferdinand (1936), the peace-loving bull, who preferred smelling flowers to bullfights.
To Each Their Own
By Anna CatesWilmington, Ohio, USA version of justiceimage of godprayers at duskon either side of invisible linesshifting left or rightat the whim of strong menmuscling pawns . . .they aren’t so mean, are they? a white butterflyenters his dream— the fallen trooper
The Iconoclasm of Artifice
by Edward Cates and Anna Cates To me, ancient ruinsAre always preferableTo stark metropolitan glitz Let me see the placesWhere time has seeped intoLichen-wreathed stoneworkAppreciating nature's revulsionAt the angular excesses of manSet my soul free to danceWhere the wild winds whistleUntamed through empty panesLet my tired heart again savor The taste of reclamation There is oft more beautyIn where man once wasThan where he yet remainsArtistry in tumbledown ruinsDeciphered by nature’s penTranscribing life onto bricksIn fantastical, kenopsic verseTeach us to love her poetryLet our hearts learn to exult inThe iconoclasm of artifice antique landeroded strand revealingthe cairn . . .poised like…