I have always been leery of January
filled with restless spirits
of those who have gone before
but lately it seems
that’s true of every month
so throw off superstitions
and damn you powers that be
let the wolves in
no campfire burning
here in the winter
of my years
I’m ready
resolution
packing a suitcase
it begins simply
packing a suitcase
what to put in
what to leave out
for the few days
remaining still
but in the act
resolution
and the quick beating
of my heart
with a nod to Luis Lorente
what do they want
these dead
huddled along the walls
whispering in corners
eyes that plead
for some kind of resolution
leaving the regret
the remorse
heavy in the air
a tanka: the expat
self-imposed exile
drinks his cup of bitterness
chokes on memories
no good comes from withdrawing
a time to return draws near