Ribboned plastic bag
enlaced within an elm tree;
robin weaves her nest.
© Nancy Botta, 2021
Vernal equinox. (hiaku)
Tag Archives: writing
Refuse. (haiku)
burnt leaves and plastic
swallowed by eddies and waves—
our marriage, undone
© Nancy Botta, 2020
Nail-biter.
She keeps her compulsion
in a jaw set with grief
because busy mouths
and chatter teeth
will grind away time
and gnaw on memories
too lovely to keep.
© Nancy Botta, 2020
Mothballs.
She would cry,
but at twelve
she stuffed her eyes
with all the silica packets
and mothballs she could find,
whenever she locked herself
inside her mother’s empty closet.
© Nancy Botta, 2020
Contusion. (haiku)
Blue mottled with black,
thick clouds clot above concrete—
right eye swollen shut.
© Nancy Botta, 2020
Rusted Honey 