Author: cfblack
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haiku for a troubled world
you don’t have to wait until your life is perfect to find happiness 5-12-26
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Waiting on the rain
I want to lie awake and listen to rain on the roof in the gutters and drains as it slowly digests every solid thing and excretes them in the sea and when this world is done with me, flush me adrift on my way to sea. 5-11-26
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Tests as healing medicine
grit in teeth irritant in shoes once you were sand in need warmth glass remembers fire and you vanished breathe…fog on the surface know you are transformed 5-8-26
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rainy day haiku
rain in the morning means no dawn wake up arias or bird feeder songs 5-7-26
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Ten months
Died, such a small word, but oh the weight it drags behind it. It has been ten months and the FAA finally released your personal effects. Your mother needed to sift through where zippers whispered confessions, smudged finger prints gave testimony you were alive. It seemed an invasion of your privacy and I refuse to…
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haiku of a hungry bird
red bird on the fence complains that I sit too close to the bird feeder 5-4-26
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Barista Wipes Hands on Apron
Barista knows grief takes its sugar With small baptisms of steam and milk Places a blessing on the counter without spilling Affirms love is never sinful — With small baptisms of steam and milk She watches hands tremble toward warmth Affirms love is never sinful Even as sorrow stains the tongue — She watches hands…
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Scented candles
Summer days burned like scented candles. Flames bent to drafts we could not feel. Whiffs of smoke vandalized the brightness of time, smudged the walls of tomorrow’s room. Slow ruin settled in like urban squatters. Residue learned our names, waited in corridors of breath, COPD grew mold in our chest and now speaks in pidgin…
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Leave a window open
When clouds and thunder pulled curtains over the sun, momma would read scriptures written in the sky. She have us throw open the southwest windows, because if the pressure could somehow equalize and if the house had enough fresh air to recite prayers and if the walls held no fear of dying, the house would…
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Nest of leaves
sun bleached bench pine cone nests on leaves you think maybe a squirrel has hidden it in plain sight or maybe it fell in the night and landed there like you fell in the night and landed here neither of you had control over the decision to exist and neither of you has control over…
My husband's poetry 