haiku3

rejection -
a bruised apple rolls
off the shelf


                                     Buenos Aires tango
                                     at the end of an alley
                                     the Big Dipper


sultry evening
the moon's tide
pulls me in

                                     his oil paintings
                                     so unlike mine—
                                     passion fruit

old pier
boats in the marina
moaning

                                     carrying on
                                     as if nothing had happened
                                     dogwood in bloom

Exercise

tai chi
slicing the morning mist
in quarters

I Hear Her Say

My father, sister and I board a fishing boat to take us out to sea. I am holding my mother’s remains in a wooden urn. I am the one tapped to do the deed. When we are far enough out, I walk to the back of the boat. The driver slows down and then cuts the engine. I pull out mother-in-a-bag. I begin to pour. Just then the breeze kicks up and throws her ashes back in my face. Not so fast, sweetie! I gasp. I am covered in my mother. I cough. I spit. I move fast. I finish the job. In a dramatic gesture I toss the urn overboard. It bobs up and down on the waves like a turtle. Then it begins to sink. Oh crap! I can’t swim!

journal entry
finally
the last word