Mesilla: Haibun by Miriam Sagan


An alcove in an adobe wall, filled with clay churches, right behind the real church on the plaza. Chickens cluck all day, and the rooster crows at will—no alarm clock he. The dog barks at any imagined trespass.
A bar band is playing “Papa was a rolling stone,” and I dance on the sidewalk. I’ve heard almost no live music in a year.
The lavender plant is full of bees.

white hyacinth,
church bells—the smell of spring
up from Mexico

You say I’m always happy here, no matter the season.

Christmas tree
still in the window—

To arrive at a border, to attempt to cross it, is to start suffering in a particular way-—well-known to my four grandparents who crossed an ocean of the imagination. Personally, I cannot discount any faith that helps.
On Sunday morning, mass is broadcast from the church and parishioners listen from the courtyard, sitting on the adobe walls. A woman walking a dog crosses herself.

a man kneels
in the street, facing
the priest’s voice

Haiku by Brad Bennett

grackle play
the iridescence
of solar panels

pond goslings…
a mom mimics
her toddler’s delight

the blank slate
of new snow…

winter solstice
a nuthatch turns
upside down

dripping icicles
a robin plucks
holly berries

Brad Bennett is an elementary school teacher who lives near Boston. He started writing haiku seriously about ten years ago and has published two books of haiku, a drop of pond, which won a 2016 Touchstone Award from the Haiku Foundation, and a turn in the river, published in 2019. He has taught haiku to children and adults in a variety of settings. He is very grateful for haiku in his life.

Some Spring Haiku by Kristen Lindquist

morning fog
my to-do list full
of question marks

circling back
to our conversation
broad-winged hawk

spring flooding
the river goes back
to its old ways

still-leafless trees…
pondering the motives
of crows

spring flood
pairs of ducks
sail past

March wind
on the bay whitecaps
become gulls

rainy day traffic
memories of the ocean
within us all

ice storm
the surprising number
of hollow trees

Kristen Lindquist is a writer and nature/birding guide who lives in Camden, Maine. She has been a member of the Broadmoor Haiku Collective for a year this month. She has published two full-length collections of free verse poetry. Her haiku chapbook It Always Comes Back was the winner of the 2020 Snapshot Press e-Chapbook Award and will be published in spring 2021. 

Kristen’s website and blog:

These are from her blog–I’ll be following it!

It’s Very Strange To Stop In Chama, New Mexico

And not drive into Colorado–but we are being law abiding!

Luckily haiku doesn’t care about borders.

large guy swatting
flies—I’ll avoid
this cafe table

a small rainbow—
check tire pressure
light stays on

curled dead mouse—
quiet conversation
crossing high grasslands

I can’t stop laughing
for no reason—we’ve been
married a long time