Cool splashing water
rinses off bruised apricots;
finally, the sun.
©Nancy Botta, 2020
Porcelain Sink. (haiku)
Tag Archives: writer
Tuesday by the river. (haiku)
The fog drifts around
formless and weeping all day;
June is drunk again.
© Nancy Botta, 2020
Reclamation.
On the shore of a cave
I had thrown myself in
I smashed up stalagmites
growing from my skin
and sawed off stalactites
dripping off my chin.
/ /
New flesh, pink and sweet
like pearls and starfish
scattered at my feet.
© Nancy Botta, 2020
Undone. (haiku)
A little black bird
frozen under dirty snow—
mom forgets my face.
© Nancy Botta, 2019
Window by the bed. (haiku)
Smudge of waxen light
wavers behind endless clouds;
her wet cough returns.
© Nancy Botta, 2019
