The following tanka was first published in Issue 5, February 2026 of Laurels. The theme of the issue was “travel.”

holding your hand

37,000 feet

above the blue

if this plane crashed

what would our last thoughts be?

The following tanka was first published in the Tanka Society of America: Member’s Anthology, 2025. Shenyang is a city in northern China with a population of 9 million. This is about my son, then 16-months-old.

Shenyang neon

reflected in the rain

70 km/h

my arms an extra seat belt

around my sleeping son

The following tanka was first published in the December 2025 issue of Quail Eggs.

praying about

adopting my Chinese niece

for a season

all the different paths

that rain can make

The following tanka was first published in the October 2025 issue of cattails.

rotten yellows and pinks

of flowers past their prime  

as spring winds down

I think of how much time

I wasted indoors

The following tanka was first published in Issue 4, August 2025 of Laurels. The issue’s theme was “time.”

a pebble

tumbles into rocks

the landslide 

forever changes the mountain

I wait for That One Email

The following tanka were first published in Issue 43, September 2025 of Kokako.

the trickle of

water into water

chaotic currents

swirl and contradict

until flowing as one

poem after poem

emails arrive so frequently

—the planets align—

I asked for signs:

are these the signs?

The following tanka was first published in the Spring/Summer 2025 edition of Ribbons. The tanka is about my then 3-year-old daughter.

scars on her knees                       

bruises on her shins

mosquito bite on her ankle

the story of summer

written on my daughter 

The following tanka was first published in the April 2025 edition of cattails:

waiting and working,

rejection at every turn

dreams unwavering

how much more can I endure?

the sun rises, the moon sets

The following tanka were first published in the February 2025 issue of The Bamboo Hut:

kitchen, living room

following the trail

of toys and chores

my wife struggles yet again

to sleep when the children sleep

carving your initials

the pine tree bleeds and bleeds

and bleeds sap

I don’t, can’t know it yet

but the relationship won’t last

The following tanka was first published in the October 2024 edition of cattails:

inside a tent

shushing my baby to sleep

deep in the forest . . .

soon she cannot hear me

over rain’s pitter-patter