Windblown


Come, butterfly
It's late--
We've miles to go together.
—Bashō, On Love and Barley: Haiku of Basho


  
soe-uta:
disintegration cannot bear
the body it wears:
each solid breath numbered


kazoe-uta:
his thumb draws one line down
her cheekbone, another across
her lips, a trace of fire, a
wheel spinning through her
windblown thoughts


nazurae-uta:
the sow slaughtered into sections
on his return; stooped father
ripe with rings, purple robes and
wine in hollowed barrels: her
eyes as inevitable as drunkenness


tatoe-uta:
cold to her fingers: the metal
bowl filled with rainwater from the
last 24 hours, a storm she could not
contain, water to the lip and
over: his continual leaving


tadagoto-uta:
mourners led forward, mud splashed onto
bare legs; he is no longer sure she wore
satin, no longer sure the words he
left lined her pillow
or the dreams she floated in


iwai-uta:
to the third layer of heaven where she
waits, to the earth beneath
her waiting, to who she was, fine
bones, soft breath, before the
leaving, her fire roused then traced
across the sky like butterfly in flame










footnote: In his kana (phonetic syllabary) preface to the Kokinshu in the tenth century, Ki-no-Tsurayuki lists six types of poetry. These can be found in Bashō’s Narrow Road to the Interior, Translator’s Introduction, written by Sam Hamill.




1st Place Oregon Poetry Association 2011 Spring Contest, free verse category.  (Published in Verseweavers)