Monday: Haibun by Miriam Sagan

How is the day an abstraction?
It has color, feeling, mood.

back
of the embroidery—
my jumbled thoughts

I can’t create the moment, or even destroy it, like a toddler knocking over a stack of blocks.

the baby
grabs the smallest
matreshka doll

The Tower of Babel has made it difficult for us to understand each other. You are speaking you and I am speaking me.
I lie in the bath and you say: Who can we ask to find out which one of us is weirder?
“You are weirder,” I say, like I always do.
I place a line of dots on my watercolor paper, but they don’t seem to lead anywhere. Same for the black circles.

the ceiling fan
turns the pages of my book
how helpful!

A snail in my raised bed lettuce patch. My desire to crush it more violent than any feeling towards a person, even a tyrant.

by mistake, my brush
dipped in coffee, morning
watercolor