11 - final kukai & names

Global Haiku • Millikin University • Fall 2010

coming home to find
my Christmas present
a sharp dressed man

broken deck
we use an expired coupon
as the six of hearts

the stars make
little pinpricks in the sky—
your hands

dreary day,
golden buttercup
shines all the brighter

a subtle glow
of a dark apartment
Christmas Tree

railroad tracks
a lone streetlight
outshines the moon

summer boardwalk
in my grandmother's arms
i dance

falling stars . . .
I decide
to be the flame

in the wind
I become a feather

his repeated mistakes
mirrored in you
I hand you my baggage

staring at the stars,
we make our own—

rogue snowflake
aiming for
my eye

he blows out the candles
asking for a real family—
his birthday wish

fallen petals
I guess
he'll never be mine

a mother cradles her son
and thinks of Mary

the man in the moon
stares at me
in disappointment

the bruised and the broken
we build our home

as he tells her about his day
she pretends
to care

her presence
first snow

beach waves
our insecurity

day made
by one

midst of embrace
a vesper
for his faith

quiet twilight
fills my bedroom
one candle

flowers given for
a job well done
vodka bottle

homecoming night
your sweater
breaks the wind

she came back
for him . . .

first snow
finding my way into
your cubby

under the lamp post
he hands her

hiding behind a mask
he can finally be

a star of wonder
in center stage

a sigh as he jogs past
. . . she peels the sticker
off her water bottle

covering up
     the real scars
he left me

I hold her hands
and try to still them—
wanting more time

they play tic tac toe
with chess pieces

gives her strength
to pray

speaking the words
I'm afraid to say
your eyes

                                  and star t   r   u   n   n   i   n   g
               out of

frost    ed flakes
watching the homeless man from her window
she takes a       bite

my calico cat
napping on the carpet
i join her

standing in the doorway
afraid to go in
after the surgery

looking down at her swollen belly
she scrawls "pro-choice" in marker
                                . . . crickets

first fight
he tells her she sounds
like her mother

hand over hand
he climbs
the gym class rope

signing his name
he notices
the mistletoe

the moon sits
in the fourth pane
he hasn’t come home

the moon
gives light
to another argument


© 2010, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.