© 2017 by Elizabeth Odders-White

© Elizabeth Odders-White 2017

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haiku

I'm striving, chasing

words that refuse to come when

called. Petulant punks!

Menacing Mount Should

obscures the sacred blooms of

the Garden of Is.

Golden globs glide by.

A galactic landscape flecked

with glimmers of home.

I don't do lines. Lines

of coke, lines for waiting, lines

of words... Oh, wait.  Shoot.

Familiar. Presumed

to constrict. Must hide, play small.

Soul shrinks. Heart gets squished.

A four-foot mansion.

Corduroy. Macrame. Shag.

Grandpa's skills amaze.

The flames of his pain—

Fear, loneliness—devour

My boundaries.  Again.

Our little Rosebud

pops and pokes and huffs her way

into timid hearts.

The sun nods early,

as Boreas taunts the swift

November air.  Soon.

Hydrangea blooms, brown

and brittle, clinging to stems,

dancing with each gust.

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