Global Haiku • Fall 2012
Dr. Randy Brooks

Previous Home Next

Danielle Mohrbach

Danielle Mohrbach spent her childhood planning a career as an author-editor-publisher-journalist. She is now a candidate for BFA Musical Theatre at Millikin University. She usually writes only when she is certain no one will read it, and is from Monroe, MI.

Bewteen Stars

Danielle Mohrbach

I am an eternal optimist. I am also a perpetual worrier. If I am at a beautiful point in my life, then I am thankful; if I am struggling, then I am confident that ease will eventually return. However, ever lurking in the shadows of my sanguinity is doubt. What if . . . ? 

Here is the space between stars: the doubt and the confidence, worry and reassurance, impending joy and inevitable pain. It is a place of transition, a place of growth—sometimes a waiting room, sometimes a threshold.

The following haiku exist in that space—as do we all.

Reader's Introduction:

This collection is filled with haiku that all differ in topic but weave together under the theme of observations of a young woman in this wide, diverse, and beautiful world we live in. She understands that the world is generally a bright place, but darkness lurks in places we ignore, but we will find them if we look. These haiku show that even the simplest things are not defined by what they are, but how we interpret them. Because honestly, how one reacts to something is far more effective than the initial object in itself (see the weight loss commercial haiku!). These haiku come together to show one person’s view on life, uniquely different than all others. But everyone’s has validity and strength. This collection of haiku is an example of the human experience—all different facets. —Corinne Fox

horse' s mane 
between my fingers 
we canter in the dust

birthday candles 
she blows them out 
but does not wish

weight loss commercial               I eat another cupcake


silent theatre 
I nod 
to the accompanist

the room full 
of sobbing students— 
acting two

hasty love poems
on scrap paper—
torn to shreds

love letters 
the address isn't 

don't ever leave  
she murmurs. . .  
summer rain

tracing patterns 
in the spaces 
between stars 


© 2012, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.