haikus

Oct 25

twenty.

i dropped the red pin, searching from point a to b. find me on a map.

Mar 31

nineteen.

sunshine peeks through the apple trees. i swing with you in the yard once more.

Mar 31

eighteen.

a mourning dove cries— i awoke to your absence and shed a tear too.

Mar 31

seventeen.

i can hear the bell chiming loud; i think it is calling for you now.

Mar 2

sixteen.

hey siri, call mom. sorry, i didn’t catch that— ugh, call mom mobile.

Aug 11, 2023

fifteen.

i jumped, but perhaps i miscalculated the landing, misunderstanding.

May 10, 2023

fourteen.

i'm starting over. a chance to learn something new: i took the offer.

May 6, 2023

thirteen.

ten years old this month; feels like it was yesterday we were both just kids.

Apr 6, 2023

twelve.

lost sleep under it. helicopter fan circled rings around my eyes.

Apr 3, 2023

eleven.

metamorphosis: iterations of ourselves// you, changing with time.

Apr 2, 2023

ten.

we say, "indicted"; ironic, a silent 'c'. what will become loud?

Mar 30, 2023

nine.

these days it just goes- faster, busier, less sleep. does it ever stop?

Mar 26, 2023

eight.

in like an ant swarm, the masses leave me empty; every last crumb.

Feb 15, 2023

seven.

skyline frosted white, crosswalks covered in quiet, cars drift by, silent.

Feb 13, 2023

six.

dust floating in air catching the sunlight just right- a calm that's lived in.

Feb 12, 2023

five.

juicy strawberries covered in warm chocolate- a labor of love.

Feb 11, 2023

four.

daydreams of water just can't quench the yearning thirst of these land locked blues.

Feb 10, 2023

three.

your words stay with me. the years separated us, but i still hear you.

Feb 5, 2023

two.

throughout time we dance, the clock swaying 'til midnight- another year beats.

Feb 4, 2023

one.

let's try something new. hoping it will spark something, practicing haikus.