From Waverley Writers

The following twelve haiku all appeared in Waverley Writers: Celebrating 25 Years, 1981–2005 (Palo Alto, California: Waverley Writers, 2007), edited by Sharon Olson and Palmer Pinney. Read also my short appreciation for Waverley Writers, perhaps the best poetry reading series I’ve ever been a part of.



                                                                first star—
                                                                a seashell held
                                                                to my baby’s ear


scattered petals . . .
the thud of my books
in the book drop


                                                                scent of wisteria—
                                                                she finishes translating
                                                                the birth certificate


                                                                                                                                a few pines
                                                                                                                                tagged with ribbons . . .
                                                                                                                                winter stillness


                                                                meteor shower . . .
                                                                a gentle wave
                                                                wets our sandals


Valentine’s Day—
she reminds me
to fasten my seatbelt
                     +


                                                                after the quake
                                                                     the weathervane
                                                                          pointing to earth


                                                                                                                                reading in bed
                                                                                                                                     my pulse flickering
                                                                                                                                     the lightly held bookmark


                                                                spring breeze—
                                                                the pull of her hand
                                                                as we near the pet store


home for Christmas:
my childhood desk drawer
                                                                                                                              +
empty


                                                                first snow . . .
                                                                the children’s hangers
                                                                clatter in the closet


                                                                                                                                dwindling fire—
                                                                                                                                our conversation shifts
                                                                                                                                to death