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
tonight
ai li
pausing on cool tiles
my old mother’s feet
bare
Alan Bern
half-sister
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
kaleidoscope
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
myself
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
sisterhood
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
seesaw
my daughter rises
into her laughter
Ron Scully
donut
biting in
her lip ring
Ruth Yarrow
angry daughter
reflecting
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
motherless
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
ready
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
