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Karen Cesar
our clothes
still tangled in a heap
your voice
from the shower singing
Venus in Blue Jeans
the jagged edge
of a bottle half-buried
in the sand...
they say some diseases
are carried in the blood
junk jewelry
stored in a shoebox
the glitter
from my first pair
of ruby slippers
only I knew
she kept a bottle of wine
in the hamper…
the neighbor who let a child
paint her toenails red
like this
she tells the hairdresser
pointing
to a picture
of overlapping leaves
in Japanese
it means 'forest of songs'
to my delight
with the change of one letter
Karen becomes karin
heat returns
with the approach of summer
we rent a cottage
for our anniversary
and for the wild raspberries
a slim volume
of lesbian poetry
on my pillow
tonight my lover's kisses
are softer than eiderdown
my mind flitters
subject to prickly subject
not so much age
as the way I’ve always been
a gypsy moth on thistle
Karen Cesar lives with her husband and Italian greyhound, Shadow, in Arizona. She began keeping her first haiku notebook in June 2006. Her first tanka was written in August 2006. Since then she has been published in Frogpond, Heron’s Nest, Modern Haiku, Ribbons, Eucalypt, Gusts and moonset. She was awarded Best US Poem in the Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival 2007 Haiku Invitational.
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