March
He met his wife for the first time today,

Though they had been together for years.

She was no longer her father’s daughter,

The way they had remembered her.

She bent low, lacing up her sneakers,

Hair pulled back, out of her way.

Out of her way indeed.

Something shifted in her gonna take it,

Until it was fully positioned in her ain’t takin’ it no more.

For all these differences, she felt more herself than she had ever before.

One foot in front of the other in a sea of sisters.

Filling up the cracks of her broken teacup heart,

Until it was full to overflowing.

She was ready.

This is now.

Monday Haiku

Monday, up early

To run late all afternoon.

The sky is deep blue.

Hot coffee morning,

Banging in the kitchen –

Don’t you know the sun is out?

It has been three days.

Ziggi’s is busy this morning,

But I find a table near the plug on the wall,

Just in case.

 

I miss the 40 inch tall

Standing tables,

They made long Sunday mornings divine.

Now my hip pinches my nerve

And sciatica screams down my leg and

Back up –

Hard wood chairs.

My friend folds a thick sweater to tuck

Underneath,

Against the hard,

A woolen barrier.

 

The next table is where

the best sellers are written,

On Sunday mornings,

While I neglect

Three or more books I’ve started

To daydream,

A sip hot coffee.