Thursday, February 10, 2011

Early Morning Portraits of a Wintry Kitchen


A collection of haiku poems


I.

As blood fills all limbs

After a night of sleeping,

The sun, too, wakes up.



A morning with air

As damp as cold bath water

Spills about the day.



Eighty-two sixteen

Rutherford Street sits next to

The used mattress store.



The tiny white house

Has pear trees and an old dog

Making sure it’s safe.



II.

Smoke surrounds the red

Chair, yellow table, and fridge.

It hides the kitchen.



The kind grey haired man

Has an old heart that likes to

Swallow people whole.



His wife, a joyous,

Plump, robe-wearing soul, has just

Misplaced her false teeth.



Newspaper headlines,

A little cup, and warm food

Appear as smoke fades.



III.

Drenched in cold sunshine,

He devours his eggs, and

She drinks her coffee.



Both crispy and bright,

Happiness, it seems, has found

Its way to their home.

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