Novel
Writing a novel
is getting in the way of
writing a haiku.
is getting in the way of
writing a haiku.
Seven for Mom
Mom, high heels, never. Somebody's wife and mother. God first, then the rest. Sunday's dishpan hands style hair spun to golden floss every Friday. Beauty, love, honor. Human condition explored while packing lunches. Peeling potatoes, a knuckle scraped blood red. Anyone notice? How did you do it? Provide the foundation for other people's lives. No explosive throes, demands for acknowledgment. Just, what's for dinner? Grace, beauty, like truth, in the eyes of beholders. Mom, I'm watching you.
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