butwait.blogspot.com || At least one haiku I am comfortable sharing. Every day.
worsening weather —I pull on one more layerbefore heading out
puddles
are for stomping —
the toddler's creed
taking the tree downwe find a small empty nest —one last ornament
Bananagrams rules —my mother and I decideevery word counts
carrot ginger soup —years from now he'll want thiswhen a cold's coming
backyard berries —a flock of winter robinsstrips the branches bare
obscuring fog —we make our way homewith hands outstretched
noticing the twistat the azalea's root —dreaming in bonsai
no-fly zone —we avoid talking aboutPalestine again
dormant wisterianow bloomingwith juncos
secret ingredient —the faint scent of orange zestgiving it away
first bird of the dayblack-capped chickadeetuning up its song
as I wake upthe white throated sparrowinforms me I'm late
all day longevery conversationcame back to the cold
ice-glazed snowand the sound of the worldbreaking underfoot
winter night —in the children's bedroomsa fierce hope for snow
ungovernable —the last cricket sings awayin the basement
waxing crescent moon —somehow more presentfor being barely there
divorce storiesaround the backyard fire pit —my throat fills with smoke
fields given overto wandering flood water —our talk takes a turn
sending the kids offwith a bag full of trip snacks —I am my mother
our son finds photosfrom the early years —"you were both so young!"
neighborhood chat —the geese shout us downfrom just overhead
we hurry outside —remember how the snowused to stay?
traveling througha cloud of cosmic debris —our boy explains meteors
faint scent of pine —we leave the tree upfor one more night
dentist appointment —a hole in my calendaralready
after the partynews of the unwanted gift —we've all been exposed
nothing feels new —I write in the old yearonly to cross it out