3 Tankas

Kelsey Kwong


The scalding teapot

Trembles between her fingers.

Tapping on tables.

Sandals hasten, skipping, trip

What remains, a rolling boil.


The Many Faces of the Moon

Lulling waves beckon:

A divine mirror to the

Sea of gems above.

The two-faced moon beams down

At wild souls swept ashore.


Cat Calls

As a breeze sails by,

The trees whisper and whistle.

Gusts fury through boughs,

Leaves coldly crunch under soles.

Never upset the weather.


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