God, stupid parents
How’s work? Boyfriend? Pretend to
care but want me gone.
Moved back home
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Category Archives: haiku
The reluctant novelist
Seventy-thousand
words a book–why? Seventeen
syllables enough.
Portland
Couch surfing through Air
BnB, they both turn heads,
young, lofted by dreams.
Little white lies
Enjoy the city.
Envision the future I
text, wanting her home.
Argument
Afterwards, tissue
paper frail, we try hard not
to tear each other.
Career change
This is why she can’t
move back East, the cubicle
life too dim, dull, stale.
Out of the woods
We both had bad dreams
but she’s okay, Portland-bound,
scratching poison oak.
Popcorn
Oh look he says, so
happy to find a snack he
can have for himself.
January thaw
Like skin, snow sags droops
puckers. Tears slide across a
hard crusty surface.
Disappointment
A sink hole opens
in a once serene landscape
and cannot be filled.
a haiku a day 