TANKA PROSE: Bittersweet

Bittersweet
         —Greece, 1972

 My yellow bikini. Your red speedo. Waist-deep in the turquoise bay, both of us lean and golden in afternoon light, kissing. A salty-sweet breeze carries the scent of lemon blossom from a nearby island famous for its honey. You whisper the name: Lemonodasos . . .

 Twisted pines line the shore. We eat at a beach shack, hardly more than a lean-to. An old woman dressed in black cooks over an open fire. She serves us, then sits at the end of the weathered table, watchful and intent. Though she never speaks, her eyes say, Eat,
eat . . . savor everything.

Grilled octopus, whitefish, raisin-studded dolmades with fresh pistachios. I remember the lapping waves, the smoke in our hair, your hand reaching for mine.

        80th birthday                                     

        zesting lemon for a cake     

        I feel again             

        your breath against my cheek                                                                 

        as if you’d never left


Drifting Sands Haibun #36, June 2026