Dock-sitting

a morning haiku:


The day grows warm, slow.
Tangled new water lilies
turn a soft yellow.



e.coli



If all five of us die on this vacation, let’s say
the plane goes down, or room service delivers e.coli
for dinner, hey, it could happen, we could
all die, but our house would stay alive for a while,

22 Green Hill Road, tan brick, Josh’s report card
lying on the kitchen counter. Julie’s black jazz shoes
under the couch. RB’s softball cuddled in her mitt.
All of these pieces needing to be picked up, looked at.

Dance trophies packed in a box. Dirty clothes washed.
Old journals thrown out. Letters unopened, opened.
Three sets of china, divided, maybe argued over.
House sold. Refrigerator carrying on, making ice.

A dog, a rabbit and a guinea pig our only orphans.
Someone will have to take care of our creatures.
We walk along the beach, husband & wife
and a boy with sandy arms runs between us.

published as Bread & Butter, Orange Willow Review, Vol. 2, 2000