Wet season arrives
with muddy hems and soft groans—
black umbrellas bloom.
© Nancy Botta, 2019
Tag Archives: haiku
Bad habit. (haiku)
Tattered plastic bag
ribboned across barbed wire—
anger carves up skin.
© Nancy Botta, 2019
Slush. (alliterative haiku)
Salt stains on suede shoes,
sweater soaked by soggy snow—
winter’s welcome wanes.
© Nancy Botta, 2019
Refugee’s keepsake. (tanka)
He held the pieces
of a burnt up Polaroid,
charred along the seams
from when he’d fold and unfold
her smile from before the war.
© Nancy Botta, 2019
Rebuilt. (haiku)
Shattered river ice
sews itself back together;
pale scars crisscross wrists.
© Nancy Botta, 2019
Mire. (haiku)
Drifting morning fog;
rivulets gather and wash
over broken trees.
© Nancy Botta, 2019
Under the weather. (haiku)
Pale winter sunset
drowning under soggy clouds—
fever soaks the bed.
© Nancy Botta, 2019
