My mother

my mother

barely converses

……the tangle

of bougainvillea 

has spread to her mind

—Ribbons, Winter 2014

My poor mother now, a fading blossom in need of special care.

The outline

the outline
of its wounded body—
this fit of rain
not bold enough
to wash it from my mind

—Modern English Tanka, Autumn 2008

I still can see it.