avalanche sobering up

*

azaleas opening a hymnal

*Published in seashores, Volume 3

blue

the memory

of seashells

*Published in the November 2019 issue of Stardust Haiku

quiet today

a palmful of stones

skipped along the pond

*

colder now

I sip my tea

with reverence

*Published in Another Trip Around the Sun: 365 days of haiku for children young and old

only silence

could end you

the way

dusk falls

*

uncertain

the crickets hush

hush now

*

the silver behind the wind I never knew

*Published by Weird Laburnum on 11/24/19

handle with care

please

do not incinerate

my remains into useless ash

or mix my skeleton

with the endless fog of layered

earth upon earth

clean my bones with reverence

dust them

shine them like the fine china

families pass down

generation to generation

and then gently use my bones

to drum out 

a rhythm only the sea and sky

could comprehend 

*Published by Poetry Super Highway (Poet of the Week: November 18 - 24, 2019)

wilderness

uncle asks

what I cost

*Published in Bones 18

every road a cliff after the bomb after the bomb

*

skeleton in the cloud I also knew as mother

*

more humanity than humanity late-autumn oak

*Published by Proletaria on 11/14/19

a used copy of e e cummings’ 95 poems 

i love it when a book smells like coffee. smells like cigarettes. like an unidentifiable existential crisis that i just happen to hold in my hand. <<< breathe in. out. again. >>> when the edges are stained and crumpled. smashed from a fistfight with recklessness or passion. <<< those are the same thing, right? >>> if this book could bleed it would. if it could talk it would scream every word at me. and oh God. yes. i would let it.

*Published by Dime Show Review 

bathed in red church bells ring

*

autumn leaves falling into has been

*

in the river drifting through an ellipsis 

*Published in the 2019 issue of Under the Basho (One-line Haiku section)

stigma

i would love to say

recovery has a finish line 

one where crowds roar 

as you break the paper divide 

with arms outstretched 

in hallelujah praise God 

recovery really is 

a thankless job you 

more or less do in the dark 

it’s also a taskmaster 

that waits by your bed each dawn 

sayin’ get up g-damnit 

don’t drown in victimhood 

and when you finally decide to hoist

up that golden survivor flag 

you begin to curse that title 

more and more each day 

all you want 

after all your scars

is to be a human 

free of mark

*Published in From The Ashes: An International Anthology of Womxn's Poetry