Fingerprint bruises
roll down a small freckled arm—
thunder booms at night.
© Nancy Botta, 2018
Tag Archives: haiku
The morning after. (haiku)
The quiet rainfall
washes away dried cold sweat
from the night before.
©Nancy Botta, 2018
Working. (haiku)
A smirk in the dark,
cheap dress peeled off in silence;
petals fall apart.
© Nancy Botta, 2018
October. (haiku)
Wet leaves on pavement,
harsh winds reveal skeletons—
bloodless and crooked.
© Nancy Botta, 2018
Rites of passage. (haiku)
Early winter fog
envelops the neighborhood—
a burial shroud.
© Nancy Botta, 2018
Alone. (haiku)
Sun baked autumn stroll
to the hidden lakeside cove—
cool breeze up her skirt.
© Nancy Botta, 2018
Retirement. (haiku)
Tired hands fumble
with the clasp of an old bra—
elm trees groan at night.
© Nancy Botta, 2018
