a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

[Note: experimenting with the extended form of haiku called tanka]

Gathering to me
the ones who see me, know me, 
listen to my words,
listen to the heart beneath,
listen to my brokenness.

***

He was gone early.

A night of sirens,
Weeks of hospital gowns,
And then the day
My mother came home 
To tell us he was dead.

For decades I was alone. 
Too much for my angry mother,
Too much for anyone, really,
Including the young girl
Who wanted one thing only,
To crawl in the lap of her absent father
And feel that embrace
Once more.

I tried hard
To be okay,
To find the love I needed,
To be worthy.

The winter was long
And cold
And harsh.

A glimpse of spring
Now and then. 
The beauty of autumn
A temporary balm
For the soul.

Just now,
In the autumn of my life
I begin to feel
The kinship
Of the ones
Who are gathered,
Who are here,
Who are listening,
Feeling,
Caring

for me

I’m beginning to feel the ease
Of being held.
Some from the past,
Some in this moment,
Some from a time to come. 

I am caught in a web of love.

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

[Note: experimenting with the extended form of haiku called tanka]

You may harvest peas;
I’ll eat your peas with gusto
While gathering words,
Simple words plucked from stardust,
Reflecting a woman’s soul. 

***

It is the time of planting.

A long winter forestalled
The excited dropping of seeds
In the turned ground,
Re-discovering water spigots
And long hoses,
Tiny hand-written signs
To map the anticipated
Crop of green shoots.

I am planting poems,
Harvesting the words 
Dropped into the
Fertile ground of my being,
Tending the flow
Of desire and imagination,
Discovering the map
Of my heart.

Let’s set a table
Together.
Your leafy greens,
My tendrils of thought,
Entwined in conversation,
Sating our appetite
For belonging.