Moving Day
First published as a trifold in June of 2003, when my wife was pregnant with our first child (who was born in October). I shared this trifold with attendees of the Haiku North America conference in New York City at the end of June in 2003. All of these poems were previously unpublished before appearing in this trifold, but many of them were later published elsewhere. Trifold cover illustration by my wife, Hiromi Welch. See also “Expecting.”
not yet pregnant—
her period begins
the day after New Year’s
moving day—
the coolness on my cheek
after your kiss
moving day—
I hold my breath
to hang the wind chime
moving day—
the emptiness
of the children’s room
your afternoon call
to tell me you’re pregnant—
dissipating fog
first doctor visit—
greening buds
on the just-planted maple
morning sickness—
the patter of spring rain
on our new roof
curved pine
next to the straight pine—
a gentle rain
first trimester—
sand from the sea shore
falls from your sweater
turning off war news
we replay
the ultrasound video
a red tulip petal
stuck to her muddy boots
she tells our friends she’s . . .
a stone in my right shoe—
we drive home more slowly
from the obstetrician’s
the cherry tree bare
with blossoms by its trunk—
an empty stroller
fear of miscarriage end of war
second trimester—
waves in the shore reeds
rise an inch or two
second trimester—
our tulips drooping
over the weedy flower bed
home from today’s ultrasound,
we lift off the calendar
to mark October 9
second trimester we name our cars
second trimester—
the stack of pregnancy books
getting larger
41st birthday—
my hand resting
on my wife’s belly
baby
car
r
i
age
sorting dusty coins
I save the ones
from my birth year
