Issue 6 – September 2026 – Tanka Prose 9
Between Departures
Brown, crisp leaves scraped across the porch boards as the November wind picked up. My father rocked slowly in his wicker chair, wrapped in a faded plaid blanket that smelled of woodsmoke. Watching the twilight swallow the bare treeline, he remarked, "dying is the one journey—one cannot book a double ticket for."
alone
on anniversary eve
I gaze at clouds —
touching and parting
before they drift away
Chen-ou Liu, Canada
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