It is a dark Tuesday—a drippy autumn, early and wet. I start by wrapping myself in my favorite red sweater—anything to brighten the mood. It is these times, when I can think of nothing better to write, that I fall back on scavenging. I look through my pages of old haiku—those groupings of three simple lines—for an idea bursting at the edges. A complex idea where a little bit more—more explanation, more imagery, more comparison or detail—will help the thought really shine. I add syllables. I give myself permission. But there are times, like this morning, when I can think of absolutely nothing I could add that would help the poem grow. These are the poems I know are good and true haiku. But now I am left with nothing to show for my time today but a soggy feeling and a candy-apple red shirt that looks nothing like camouflage.
too many words
for what I’ve done
About the Author: ennifer Met lives in the wilds of North Idaho with her husband and children. Recent poetry, haibun, and haiku are published/forthcoming in Nimrod, Harpur Palate, Zone 3, Tinderbox, Gulf Stream, Rogue Agent, Sonic Boom, Juked, Sleet Magazine, Weirderary, Haibun Today, Frogpond, The Red Moon Anthology, Foliate Oak, and Moon City Review, among others. Her chapbook Gallery Withheld is forthcoming from Glass Poetry Press.