
cool



on Sunday
I woke up to droplets
of rain tap dancing on
my windows.
“God is crying. He is
not pleased with us.”
Made in his image, yet
we destroy everything we
touch.
I would cry, too.
And, I do.

On some mornings, I reminisce while I’m cooking; I think about him, think about her, and then I move on.
*For those of you who might be wondering about the non-traditional usage of the form: I went with 5-7-5-7-5 instead of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables for this one. Also, it’s about food & love; not your typical tanka subjects. Sometimes for literary art, you’ve gotta be a bit of a rebel.

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