Sunday, August 20, 2017

Tanka Prose


MY COMEBACK ROSES 

We have a garden and I have become, by necessity, a gardener.  Our move to the country to a house with over an acre of land meant some gardening had to be done. With books, a spade, and the knowledgeable voice of a local nurseryman we plant shrubs, grasses, flowers.

                                                       dirt under my nails
                                                       I trade pink polish
                                                       for peonies
                                                       sweeter and longer lasting
                                                       than any manicure

Success with daisies, phlox, black-eyed susans, irises, spirea and many shrubs and annuals have swelled my head. I’m a gardener! I’ll plant roses next. Pooh on all the doubters who say they are hard to grow. The roses do well that summer and survive the harsh winter, leafing  up beautifully in the spring. Then, catastrophe. The leaves are full of pin holes and getting brown. Buds are shriveled. Aphids! That's what the nurseryman tells me.  I go on the attack, spray heavily and wait one week. Two weeks. One morning I see new leaves growing. By mid-July new buds have formed. I spray again and wait.

                                                         a rose bouquet
                                                         sprinkled with morning dew
                                                         in bare hands
                                                         ignoring the thorns and pricks
                                                         and fresh drops of blood
Haibun Today, June 2017


Haibun

Odysse y            An elusive floating.  I reach out and clasp sunbeams. I move forward,  searching for I know not what, yet, understanding...