white noise —

all-day rain fading

into itself

willing my eyes

to look with less hope —

getting over her

no change

from the last storm —

we chase down the leaks

waiting on pay day —

our end-of-month menu

paired with rain water

(photo: Shinichi Higashi on Flickr)

amidst old oak leaves

March flips a card face-up —

purple crocus

(Photo: Maia C on Flickr)

timeline of transgirls —

understanding courage

a bit better now

final withdrawal —

the snow we piled so high

shrinks back on itself

atop the stone wall

a waning sliver of moon —

my indecision

forsythia

making a go of it —

we too face the sun


(HT @stopdmadness)

investigation —

our boy testing the snow’s crust

with such careful steps

vernal equinox —

the afternoon alchemy

of creeks turning gold

snowmelt streams

springing up all over —

tax receipts unmoved

telling each other

how we remember it —

the same map, upside-down

tree trunks and car tracks

interrupting the snow’s white —

I seek you everywhere

Happy Haikuversary

Four years ago today, I wrote what would become the first in a LONG series of daily haiku posts. A little while back I invited friends to join me in my celebration today, and several kind friends did just that.

Starting with Junie, the beloved duck-tolling retriever whose photo illustrated my "Wanna Play?" post:

Biscuit for Junie!

HERE IT COMES HERE IT COMES – CRUNCH

Is there another?

My friend @rwentecheney chimed in with some good luck wishes, haiku-style:

Tomorrow's the day Anniversary hoorays Sleep before the fun!

My friend Barbara, who does not typically write haiku, contributed the following two #haiku:

Small rooms with beige walls
Grim news delivered with smiles
Tears in the rest room 

Treoidation then
Now encouraged by the news
Thank all for your prayers 

While my friend Cate added this one:

darkened garden —
the stillness of trees sleeping
under new snow

My friend Marianne Paul used this haiku of mine as a jumping off point:

first light — the haiku I wrote better in my dream

And wrote a new one of her own in response:

evaporation — how quickly the haiku leaves me

My friend @SassafrasMama sent me warm #haikuversary wishes, while my friend @maggros asked me to write a haiku using the word "plight." So I did:

the haijin's plight half-remembered haiku seedpods in winter

My friend Paul David Mena used an image of mine as a jumping off point:

summer breeze —

what we whispered

among the sand dunes

And finally, there were a few friends who offered up dates that were special to them, for whom I usually pulled a haiku from that date up from the archives. Although in Val Brown's case, I wrote a new haiku, thinking about her and her sweetie, who were celebrating a different kind of anniversary:

birds gifting their songs with no notion of return — my smile in your eyes

This one, from the archives, was for @MamaJoules: November dusk — our candles seeming brighter by the minute

My friend @mapographer requested a haiku with a 12/25 date stamp, so I pulled this one (from all the way back in 2008!):

snow, then rain – the geese arguing loudly overhead

And finally, at day's end, @sacarlavoz requested a re-posting of this one:

bright yellow goldfinch swooping across our morning — unmistakeable

(I had a really great #haikuversary.) (Can you tell?)

last season’s leaves

chiming in overhead —

we trade winter sighs

snow emergency —

no one awake to share these

tiny footprints with

ice flinging itself

at our windows all morning —

somehow the glass holds

First Day School —

we learn about the sound

porcupines make



Today's little haiku has a lot of background!

About "First Day School":
Quakers were at one time known for their adherence to a testimony involving plainness of speech. This kind of speech, which included omitting honorific addresses in favor of forms of address that stressed the equality of all persons, was part of Quakers' witness of the importance of simplicity. Similarly, Quakers in those earlier times would sometimes refer to the days of the week in plain speech, which led to Sundays being called "first day," Mondays "second day," etc. etc. Most of these customs have faded out as Quakers are no longer quite as intent on separating themselves through speech choices in order to accentuate their differences. There are still some echoes of those early customs in our present-day experiences, though. Religious education classes for members and attenders of a Quaker meeting are sometimes still termed "First Day School" (rather than Sunday School); indeed, this is the case at Princeton Monthly Meeting, which is my home meeting and the site of today's haiku.

About the sound a porcupine makes:
When I was growing up, there was a day when my mother looked out the living room window and saw that there was a cat stuck up near the top of our crabapple tree. Except that when she sent my father out to investigate, he discovered that it was a porcupine! We called the local animal rescue crew, who said that the porcupine had probably wandered down from the undeveloped woods at the top of our neighborhood. They brought protective gloves and carefully took the porcupine down out of the tree. Of course my sister and I stood as close as they would let us, which meant that we got to hear the porcupine as they wrapped it up in a blanket before returning it to the forest. The best description I've come up with is that the porcupine sounded like a tiny little old man who had assigned himself the task of counting to 100, but who had forgotten what comes after 99. So, something like... "ninety-nine...   ninety-nine?.... ninety-nine..."

In First Day School at Princeton Friends Meeting this week we were singing a song that had animal sounds in it, so I got to tell the kids this story.

despite early voting

by the forsythia —

snow in the forecast

insurance against

the futures I’m afraid of —

my bright yellow kitchen

after the birth

still so much we don’t know —

snow melting away

waxing half moon —

the answer to some question

I’ve forgotten now

pipeline plans —

dotted lines show us where

the people will stand

leafless branches

reaching up out of long habit —

I drive past your house

(for Ann)

When do we want it?

Yesterday!

(making the old chant new)

Wanna play?

Photo: Junie, a duck-tolling retriever friend of mine, with ball in mouth

Wanna play?

Friends, my #haikuversary is coming up on Friday, March 17th!

I hereby invite you to join me in celebrating the art of haiku.

Here are some ways that you might decide to join in the fun. (Put whatever you decide to share either here in the comments or over on Twitter, where I am @butwait.)

• Poke around in the archives, find a favorite, and share it! Bonus points if you tell me why you like it. (But sometimes it's hard to say why, so no pressure.)
• Find a photo that you think pairs well with one of my haiku, and either tell me about it or create a haiga (image + haiku, e.g. this one)!
• Pick a date that is meaningful to you and let me share a haiku I wrote on that date. Bonus points if you tell me why the date is significant to you.
• Send me a word that you'd like to see me try to incorporate into a haiku (no promises!)
• Tell me about a moment that seemed "haiku-worthy" to you, but that you haven't quite managed to capture in the way you were hoping to
• Share a haiku of your own! (And don't focus too much on the whole 5-7-5 thing.)
• Tell me about your haiku reading practice! Do you come here and read mine, or do you only read them on Twitter? Who else writes haiku that you enjoy?
• Got any other ideas? Last year at least one friend wrote a haiku in response to one of mine, which was lovely and thrilling.

Thank you for considering putting some time and energy into making what is sure to be an already excellent day even sweeter!

early March —

the fox dirties her paws

digging for spring

at my first March —

holding a girl’s hand

to feel the future

resist and persist

meltwater and birdsong —

read me that again

(HT @MsPackyetti)

the space at the base

of the weeping cherry tree

not yet a refuge

circling again

somehow still not cleared to land —

airport seagulls