tanka

tanka--
small songs I sing
to join
my voice to other voices
hidden in the grass

Monday, December 17, 2012

the woods road

Sunday morning
jack-in-the-pulpit
his silent nod

climbing the gate
into no-sound
thick under hemlocks

birch and boulder
around the hill or over it
the path

on the granite boulder
tongues of lichen
the scraped knee

stony hillside—
even the cow paths
drenched with light

mother and child
the cows
always at  home

sweet fern
crushed between fingers
the scent of time

blackberry tunnel
round the oak’s bones
emptiness

empty acorn
under one white oak
a whole new forest


shades of green—
hairy-cap moss
five fingers deep

filling
her picnic basket—
seedling, shadow, leaf

scarlet
wintergreen berries
for winter’s glass house

red-headed
soldier moss marching—
the far end of a twig

pipsissewa—
holding its name
in her hands

bracket fungi
in earth-scented duff
concentric circles

the woods road
never going
to the end of it

   

2 comments:

  1. Jenny - You have a knack for providing us with striking, unique imagery - wonderfully worded too. I have several "favorites" here, though these might be my very favorite:

    pipsissewa—
    holding its name
    in her hands

    filling
    her picnic basket—
    seedling, shadow, leaf

    What an incredible haiku walk you've taken us on!


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    Replies
    1. Thanks, Janet. This poem is about my childhood in Connecticut, about 30 miles from Newtown. I posted it now as my way of grieving for the children and the childhoods lost there. How painful the contrast between what ought to be and what is.

      --jenny

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