Issue 1 - June 2025 - Tanka prose 2
Missing chicken
Some days, when we asked her about it, my grandmother would say this -
everything will come out in the wash. Other days it might be -
sooner of later - or - mark my words, it will all unfold. Her
faith in time - as the revealer of hidden truths - was constant; unwavering.
But, if she did find out, she never breathed a word of it; and if she knew all
along then the secret died with her. All we knew for certain was that it
wasn’t my grandfather’s blood she scrubbed from his shirt that winter
evening.
wings
for the young ‘uns
a leg for my mother —
carcass and
carving knife,
after: plum pudding
Alan Peat, UK