This week I’ve been all caught up in the Texas Library Convention razz-matazz, so although I’ve written a haiku each day, I haven’t sat down to post them. So, delinquently, here are my Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday haikus:

4/12/2011

One million brown bats,
each one hungry for dinner.
It’s not me they want.

The bats have come home to Austin, stacked themselves in the bridge’s girders like eggs in a crate.
We stand watching, at sunset, as they come out en masse to follow the drone of bugs downstream.

4/13/2011

Dear Librarians,
Have some books and some chocolate.
It’s what you deserve.

There is something so comforting about being amongst thousands of librarians.
All of them working to put the right book in the right hands every single day.

4/14/2011

Parking garage troll —
are you laughing at me now?
I can’t find my car.

It was late at night after a very long day.
That’s my excuse for going to not just the wrong floor, but the wrong garage.
I’ve never done that before…

 4/11/2011

avocado pit
sends its taproot straight and deep
we all reach for home

My Small One is happily tending to an avocado pit in a jam jar on the kitchen counter.
This is a process that requires patience —
weeks for the root to break through and sink down into the water,
more time for the brown casing on the pit to slough off.
And the plant itself hasn’t even started yet. 

And still.

She changes the water and reads the instructions we found online. 
She mulls over whether she’ll transfer it into a pot or into the ground.
She calls it by name — Ava.

It is a living thing, emerging in front of our eyes.
And things like that are worth the wait.

This weekend has held about three weekends full of stuff. 
Communing with dear friends.
Running.
Dancing.
Swimming.
And my husband’s on a bobcat, right now, ripping up the front yard.

Sometimes it’s hard to know what to pay attention to…
which little moments matter most…

4/9/11

who notices this?
a child with a chicken,
baby in his arms

4/10/11

each skirt blinks open
each boot twinkles in the dark
this sky full of stars

 

4/8/2011

long tail of the cat
blessed and folded into
the baby’s fat hands

My friend Andi is celebrating National Poetry Month over at her blog, too.
In fact, she’s the one who told me about haibun and encouraged me to give it a whirl.
(I have to say I’m loving the process…)

Earlier this week, she riffed a little off of one of my poems. 
Now I’ve done the same with one of her’s.

She wrote the middle line, above, and used it in a poem about origami.
I’ve re-purposed it here, to fit the baby who visited today —
a rosy 8-month-old who practiced standing at the coffee table and rolled across the rug and let me kiss her curls. 

Babies are one of life’s delights… though the cats may disagree.

4/7/2011

The old dog panting
even though it’s cool outside
Just a few breaths left

Our sweet, funny mutt turned 16 this winter, which is 112 to you and me. 
She can’t see or hear all that well, and she pants at the slightest provocation,
but she loves a crunchy bone and a good ear rub.
Same as she ever did.
Can’t say quite how much we’ll miss her when she’s gone.

 4/6/2011

Oh, bushel basket
of spinach and green garlic
dinner, comfort, love

Our spring veggie basket delivery has begun!
Each year we wait for the day when the basket, heavy with surprise, lands on our front stoop.
And this year, that day was today.

Romaine lettuce, kohlrabi, spinach, green garlic.
And the most amazing pea tendrils you’ve ever seen.

I made quiches of half the bounty before it could even hit the fridge. 
I love this time of year…

4/5/2011

bees drunk on milkweed
lantana and coneflower
let children slip past

There is something so sensual about spending a lazy afternoon at the Botanical Gardens with a slew of ten year olds.
Hopping rocks across the lily pond, stroking the lamb’s ear, sniffing the rosemary and lemon verbena…
"Being in an herb garden makes me want to chew," says my daughter.
And softly, with nothing really in our mouths, we do.

 4/4/2011

Oh, happy raindrops
squirrel opens his mouth toward sky
we are all awash

I was caught in the rain on my bike this morning, after so many months of dry. 
I laughed and hollered like a banshee and am listening now as it slows down to a dribble off the roof.
But there’s the thunder still, promising more.

4/3/2011

each rolling hill blurs
the sun flattens into night
what is left to see?

I was on the road tonight at dusk, right when the light got all soft and the air turned pink.
And it was as if everything had truly transmuted, as if the shape of things had changed, and the quality and material and location of things.
Everything.
When really, it was just the light…

 4/2/2011

split peas, onions, salt
thunder of a rolling boil
makes the best of drought

Weather outside and weather internal.
Hot or cold, wet or dry.
There are long-standing jokes mocking weather talk — something that should, apparently, only be used in awkward moments by boring folks.
But really, it is what underlies our every day. 
We might as well take note…