Already I am behind. Although, I did write this two days before Mindful Writing opened, so maybe that cancels everything out.
uncle and niece talk
looking at Mt. Diablo —
two cigarette butts
With stones, unlike poems, I like to give a little context, if needed, or when there is a story. A few days after Christmas, my mother raised the shade on the back porch, to discover a porcelain bowl, which had belonged to her mother, perched precariously on a wall. When she brought it in, we stared at the two cigarette butts, one hand rolled, the other filtered, and knew: her son, my daughter. I told her I would write a haiku.