Kukai 6 - wabi sabi

Roundtable Haiku • Millikin University, Fall 2010

old jazz record
my grandfather taps his finger
to the static

i identify mom’s favorite mug
by the chips
around the rim

uneven stairs
in the cabin my grandparents
built themselves

sunrise run,
singing the room
a lullaby

she gently lifts
her mother’s tombstone
back into place

home in the woods
weather stricken and rundown
my happiness

Mom’s lasagna
always better
after refrigeration

creaking rope
moonlight scattered
over the river

the moonlight
my father’s wrinkles

making my bed
the left pillow needs
to be off kilter

she pokes a finger
through the hole
in my sweater

seagull afternoon
the smoothest of shells

dogwood leaves
the youngest sister climbing
my old branches

prom dress
zipping back
into high school

sister time
helping her shimmy into
my princess dress

smoke break
dad’s old lighter fueling
my addiction

burning rubber,
she loosens
her strap

high school t-shirt
too tight
I place it in the keep pile

frowny faces in her facebook status
when she sells
her junker car

a gentle kiss—
father says goodbye
to his first car

grandmother’s album
her shaky cursive

a letter
faded from time.
She knows it by heart.

droopy eyes sulking around
pretty as ever,
pawprints on the hardwood

jewelry box
inside that secret compartment . . .

years removed from the show ring
an old mare
teaches another child to ride

end of semester
vanilla bean lotion
soothes my stress

homemade ice cream—
my nephew struggles
with the crank

restarting a game
before we get to save
death plans in the making

an earmarked page
of my favorite book
falls out

used bookstore
with love
from no one I know

rose petals
the bath water fogs up
the mirror

raccoons scavenging
in the creek

his first play
at third base
Dad's old glove

two weeks after the honey moon
he happily pretends
to like her cooking

Sunday School,
she colors Jesus
bright pink

antique mall
nestled in the fur coat
a joint

hallow fields
silencing wind
wisping away thoughts

a compass
that won’t
point north—
just what I need
to lose myself

first solo,
on the phone

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