surface ripples
the songs my mother
knew by heart
Month: December 2022
late autumn
the old piano
covered with photographs
garbage night
I lift the lid
on my neighbor’s secrets
no mail today—
the postman returns the trash can
to the widow’s garage
snow-capped mountain
she chose
a cloistered life
open black casket
the snap of her
kiss lock coin purse
winter trees
only the sound
of a crow
(Originally published in EarthRise Rolling Haiku Collaboration, 2018)
garden party
an evening breeze combs
the willow
wildflower honey
the blackberry underside
of a cloud
she walks
out of the shadow
he casts…
a pea tendril
coils upward
anniversary dinner
taking stock
of restaurant peas
Mining for gold at dawn kalinga sagar
(haiga)
may i be so graceful the flight of a swallow
end of autumn-
i leave the flower shop
with a grasshopper
the road trip
not as planned –
thistle fluff
deep river
the places
that call us home
(haiga)
spiral galaxy
the whorl
of a thumbprint
guitar lessons
my youth
an improvisation
only child —
born in the landscape
of let’s pretend
bruised peach
and her nana’s rabbit foot—
the child’s see-through backpack
popping up
behind the book
cat ears
my blue bathrobe
worn at the hook spot —
New Year’s Day