Category: Issue 21.1

Our new background image for issue 21.1?can be seen as a welcome reminder that we humans do overcome incredible obstacles.

winter’s end a wardrobe slaps closed

revealing a little more of themselves crocuses

first daffodil forever the show-off  

Spring fever dancing just for themselves girls in white dresses

a fine mist clings to old-man’s beard signs of spring

steady thaw the wood frog’s heart beats again

new ache writing a psalm on my heart  

Light, the old monk said, is like silence you can see.  

Holy Saturday the door cam catches a porch pirate’s breath    

Easter morning fox cubs scuffle over a thrush egg       (The Mainichi, April 11, 2020)  

empty a crow leaves the robin?s nest

between heartbeats ?a breath of hyacinths  

a snowflake out of nowhere just one

first rays of sun on morning frost . . . I’ll catch the next train  

after our tiff about whose turn to shovel sudden snowmelt  

social distancing at your place or mine  

only the top two plates used pandemic

moonlight trapped in icicles … one virus variant after another in this new normal

interrupted dream? I make myself small to slip back in  

Covid life as we don?t know it

lockdown blues a hit of whip cream straight from the can

nestled into oak the urge of white trilliums  

A micro haibun by Taofeek Ayeyemi.

year of the ox most of us plodding on

gibbous moon she gives me the bigger piece of pie

graveyard shift another year of waiting tables of waiting dreams

migrant detention sunset ladders the sky

family tree the leaves that brought me here

my child – wind blown leaves beyond recall  

empty playground a lollipop-shaped swarm of ants  

cactus?blossoms holding on to hope    

late Monday the quiet work of bees  

imagine the sound of rain to the snail inside its shell

deep wrinkles the paths into her eyes filling with rain

sun among the branches … in the smile of an old man a gold tooth  

temple procession in between drumbeats elephant chains

barely dawn a spider weaves yesterday into today

a flash of kingfisher blue morning fog

glass rings on the barroom counter daylight moon

another bill drops in the letter box longer days

pandemic another candle at dusk

its fragrance almost a taste lilac  

hammock time a neighbor?s lawnmower cuts it short  

Full moon how is it, my friend where you are

wind-blown rain gutters fill with blossoms

evening quiet the widow wears his glasses

old photo the smiles I left behind  

rusting in dry dock a boat named let it be

high tide a ghost crab unearths the stars

if only I could awake in the arms of the northern lights … dancing, dancing  

completing the silence coyotes  

after a quarrel ? from the chimney cooing of doves

yellow locust leaves settling between the bricks we decide to stay

moving day a pink flamingo peeks from the trash  

late spring a robin?s thinning voice

out of the blue my son calls? late spring  

Zoom? I hazard a new red lipstick

Sunday afternoon I know the time by the light

green everywhere i turn into summer  

it’s hot, it’s hot . . . the late-night complaints of banjo frogs

ripe mango that delicious shiver after rain

talk of rain the first drop hits my lower lip the well too full for empty words to echo   Note: This is a tan renga by Jennifer Hambrick and Brad Bennett.

creeping phlox pours over the ledge she says what I feel  

waterfall – a single drop of river finds its fern

veins of quartz running under the firs white water

waning light a cormorant and I linger in deep water  

rented cottage a hummingbird returns to an empty feeder  

antique shop today’s prices on vintage tags

sipping tea sent by a friend as a birthday gift I am learning to grow old

late innings in the stands gathering dust

grieving all day in the wind three tall magenta zinnias         (previously published in Modern Haiku, 2020)

sister lotus teach me the Dao of blossoms

zoom therapy the small holes in the back of my sweater

bones the geology of me

age spots I no longer talk with my hands

everywhere someone’s hands this old adobe

with every storm this spiderweb rent and rebuilt

day long rain the missing numbers on the remote control  

spitting rain the sound of noodles hitting the wok  

banana split the child in me still a child

family photo — everyone wears the same smile       (originally published in Chronogram, Dec 2007)

staying in touch? after the Zoom meeting moon meditation  

St. Mark’s Square a cloud of pigeons unveils a cloud of tourists  

filling in the empty spaces daily crossword

midwinter a redtail endures the rain

who knows how long widowhood lasts mute swan

marriage anniversary mom melts the old candles together  

soft winter sun softening the butter

winter rain a blue bowl overflows with clementines

he hawk flicks its tailatop the telephone pole–pelting winter rain

gathering dusk i leave the old toys at the thrift shop

receding hairline growing my collection of hats

my head full of worries… drooping sunflowers

picking wildflowers she always takes things literally

wild mushrooms I kept on picking the wrong man  

she stakes out her own path climbing rose  

the just-purple of beach plums a tern’s whistle

far love the scent of apples on the wind  

autumn leaves falling for her

autumn afternoon I bring a little honey to a slow moving bee

some color lost in the wash autumn rain  

deep autumn the red in my hair long gone