Friday, March 5, 2021

haiku about women and girls

Welcome to the March 2021 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal

Poems arrived from Australia, Canada, Denmark, Ecuador, Ghana, India, Italy, Japan, Poland, Singapore, the United Kingdom, and the United States

grandma’s dimple
her only treasure
she never passed on
    Adjei Agyei-Baah

scent of lavender
mother is early
    ai li

pausing on cool tiles
my old mother’s feet
    Alan Bern

do you still drive in Kalgoorlie
those gold mining trucks?
    Alan Summers

another birthday
the only gift she wants . . .
her mother’s voice
    Amy Losak

full moon:
the belly of my daughter
more and more round
    Angela Giordano

mud under my fingernail
my fastidious aunt
gasping turns away
    Antonia Matthew

she understands
the language of frogs
summer wind
    Barbara Kaufmann

party of one
double dipping the salsa
because I can
    Barbara Tate

public library
the little girl skips
to the door
    Bill Waters

my mother-in-law
knows me better
than my own mother could
    Blue Waters

middle sister
resisted rules and boxes…
hung her own stars
    C. Robin Janning

story circle
twelve women conjuring up
our mothers
    Carole Johnston

between dandelions her one-handed cartwheel
    Caroline Skanne

vigil candlelight
flickers in a woman’s eyes
No Means No
    Chen-ou Liu

under the table
small girl is the cat
not coming out
    Christina Martin

girlhood memories
of the carnival
    Christina Sng

yellow layer cakes
little me cooking with mom
and Betty Crocker
    Claire Vogel Camargo

on the hill
blooming almond trees . . .
my friend’s lace dress
    Daniela Misso

vole tracks in snow
the tiny handwriting
of my big sister
    Debbie Strange

paperwhites —
mum’s gift of springtime
to me each winter
    Deborah Burke Henderson

kindergartener —
grandmother smoothing her hair
into place
    Donna Fleischer

warm day
grandma still knits
a wool scarf
    Eufemia Griffo

I conjure Mum’s hand
as the snowlit branches
close in around me
    Helen Buckingham

stacked stones
the steps I must climb
to my goddess self
    Jackie Chou

a childhood friend
sends a photo of us —
matching Easter outfits
    Jill Lange

from her rings
now on my hands
my mother’s stories encircle me
    Joan Leotta

my beautiful Irish mother walking
gray streets of Brooklyn
her green island gone
    Joan McNerney

street corner
unkempt panhandler shows me
her Purple Heart
    John J. Dunphy

another shade of red
tangled in my hair brush
my daughter
    Julie Bloss Kelsey

train to catch
shaving just a leg patch
for ripped jeans
    Karen Hoy

from my daughter
I learn to mother
    Kath Abela Wilson

today, needing to be empty
I went to the lake
and wept until I was
    Kathleen Kramer

distant train whistle
water dripping from the eaves
daughter’s empty bed
    Katya Sabaroff Taylor

all through the frosty night
in my tiny granddaughter’s fist
my finger
    kris moon

daughter's hands
still hold mine at midnight
her thirtieth spring
    Lakshmi Iyer

my mother’s mother’s
tuneless tune
I sing it too
    Laurinda Lind

my sibling reminds me
who’s in charge
    Lovette Carter 


neighbour’s 94th . . .
coffee and cake
and her joie de vivre
    Madhuri Pillai

yesterday’s news
mama cuts out paper skirts
and we hula together
    Marianne Paul

feeding swans
my mother tells me
she mated for life
    Marietta McGregor

mother’s diary
a soft strand of hair
in tissue paper
    Marta Chocilowska

she knows
this wilderness trail
swaying ponytail
    Michael G. Smith

my fearless daughter
walks naked up the river
taming stone dragons
    Mimi Foyle
alligator pears —
my mother also
called avocados that
    Miriam Sagan

she consents
to tell her age —
in dog years
    Nancy Shires

job interview
mother’s union pin
on my blouse
    Pat Davis

moving week —
another piece of mother
is given away
    Pris Campbell

my daughter rises
into her laughter
    Ron Scully

biting in
her lip ring
    Ruth Yarrow

angry daughter
my younger self
    Sherry Grant

nail polish glitter
as if she needed
anymore sparkle
    Simon Hanson

Aunt Shirley’s swear jar
overflows with deposits
when it’s bingo day
    Stacey Murphy

lovely brown eyes
so rarely seen
mom’s ugly glasses
    Sue Norvell

how she folded herself
into a paper crane —
mom’s suicide note
    Susan Burch

flung back
to childhood
my old swing set
    Theresa A. Cancro

i pull the moon in
a little closer
    Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

arriving by horse
Grandma built a fire in the
schoolhouse stove first thing
    Tina Wright

for a new week
my wife’s sourdough
    Tom Clausen

years between
mother’s grave and me
a path of sunlight
    Vibeke Laier

she took my hand
I never felt
so understood
    Yvonne Fisher

circling her thumbs
grandmother keeps
my world spinning
    Zee Zahava