Easter Break Haiku Kukai 8 names

Global Haiku • Millikin University • Spring 2017

the night before Easter
my mother and I
hiding eggs

it isn't a holiday
unless someone cries
over potato salad

mom's garlic potatoes
      always a hit
this time      too much salt

grandpa shares
old Polish traditions
the new generation

hospital bed
pink tulips
"no food?"

tiny sticky lips
pressed upon my cheek
       Jelly beans

around the table
cousins and Granpa
the wasp approaching

the butterfly kite
     billows in the wind
          one broken wing

four Easter meals
in eight hours
divorced parents

i'm home for the holidays,
all the empty promises of hanging out
Hometown "friends."

Easter dinner
at grandma's
not without meatloaf

my mother tells me
which parts of town to avoid
I love you too

rise early
for He has risen
church bells

first Easter
the animals frighten

glazed donut,
church coffee—
faces never seen before

piggy back ride
     my niece's arms
choking me

door slides open
the dog takes off
run bunny run

Easter mourning
bowing heads
hospital bed

the head off the lamb

only open store
only chocolate bunny
. . . beheaded

roommates will devour
the giant chocolate
Easter Bunny

door creaks open
at 6 am—
the Easter bunny came!

younger cousins scramble
for poorly hidden plastic eggs—
I'm getting too old for this

morning sunshine
heavy eyes
Easter breakfast

playing detective
Easter grass
leads to the baskets

beaming sunlight
over the colored
Easter eggs

mom's baked good
sit in the kitchen
just for guests

back at home
all the chores
on my list

knocker balls
the best gift
the worst headache

we shoot the breeze
     as it
breezes by

leaving a bit of myself
at home
every time I return to school

on the floor
     just above me
          the dog's paws

crossing the street
without looking both ways
pay my tuition

everyone wishes me well,
        except that Stupid boy.

my hands on you
your hands on me
just awake enough to kiss

he asks what
she's doing here . . .
she lies and smiles

how do i tell him
to . . .
lose my number

open window
helps me dream better
at night

          alone in bed . . .
     a drunk text:
i'm really thinking about you

being asked for
the fourth time
my post-graduation plans





forward talking
trying not to ask
how my uncle is doing

concrete mix dust
swirls around me
first day back with Dad

birthday lunch
it's finally my turn
to get to chose where

she paints
the floor back to black
final production dreaming of pipes

we bond together
at a comedy show
my brother and I

in the "zen room"
I share a futon
with a fat dog

eyes closed
laying out
     to get burnt

turning the tassel
looking over the crowd
the next step

friends I haven't seen
we pick up
right where we left off

tears fall
in adoration
won't ever know
what's wrong

she sleeps
in uncomfortable positions
three more hours in the car

© 2017, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.