Summer’s End

WHA Haiga Contest

October 2017

 

 

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Distraction 101

I accompany my daughter to the surgical center in predawn darkness. My three year old grandson is scheduled for a procedure. He wants a drink of water, which is not allowed before anesthesia. He is very focused on his need for liquid. When we leave the house his mother points to the moon, still high in the sky. He asks, ” Mama, can we drive right under the moon?” “Sure, Bud,” says his mom. He stops asking for a drink, the unpleasantness of his thirst forgotten for the moment.

rock star
all eyes
turn to watch

Failed Haiku : A Journal of English Senryu

March 2017

Common Core

It’s the early 50’s. My mother walks me to school those first few months. There’s a sharp recollection of leaving her side to walk across the schoolyard to enter the building with other children. A feeling of being overwhelmed by ‘bigness.’ No looking back or crying for me, though. I want to learn about the world.

air raid drill
a tiny caterpillar curls up
under a leaf

Failed Haiku : A Journal of English Senryu

January 2017

Link

Fragment

She is riding on an old fashioned sleigh with a back and side bar to hold her in the seat. Icy air bites her cheeks. Her sister is positioned in front and she knows enough to hold on to her.

puppies
curled up together
winter sun

There is a roughness on her cold cheek – a scarf perhaps, or the back of the baby’s snowsuit. She closes her eyes against the light reflecting on snow.

comfort food
the smell of sleep
on an old blanket

Someone lifts her up and carries her into a blast of warm air as they enter the apartment. The stiff clothes are peeled from her body. Her aunt offers hugs and kisses.

tomato soup
the way love tastes
in a memory

 

Failed Haiku A Journal of English Senryu

November 2016