by Naomi Beth Wakan
Shadows of layered kimono
and the distant sound of geta
as we assorted poets
shuffle to our deck chairs.
Grape leaves shade and dapple us
and varied sweet peas
perfume the corners.
The haiku hang on sheets
of newsprint as we poets
tear, shred and reconstruct them,
chirping with delight
at our cleverness and subtlety.
The robins call out also,
reminding us, in our hubris,
that our orchard, veggie patch,
and Yes! the haiku deck itself
really belong entirely to them.
From Gardening, Toronto: Bevalia Press, 2007.