I lied to you. Tuesday was here and went, and no haiku appeared on this blog as promised. My commitment issue is far reaching. Will you ever forgive me? Is our broken trust repairable? Am I an unreliable narrator? Aren't we all?
In hope that you will forgive me, I will offer a personal story, though personal stories are less than a dime a dozen these days: Everywhere, I am drawn to lilacs. The lilac bushes have just come into bloom in Pittsburgh, and it's almost as if I can sense their presence before I see them, on my daily meanderings. Thief-heart, I imagine stealing dozens of blossoms by night, traveling though the lilac map in my head, creeping to each bush in a stranger's yard, filling the passenger seat with the scent of them, sleeping buried in the tiny blooms.
It's raining sideways in Pittsburgh this evening, the trees burning their brighter green. Last night just as I crossed the threshold of my apartment, within half a mile someone fired six or seven shots. And I, I'd thought all this violence was just in my head.
Next week, chickadees, Haikusday will return.
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1 comment:
This prose to me is as good as a haiku.
Sometimes your mind will not allow the words to take the form you might want, so maybe, as here with the lilacs, it's best to take what you can, when you can and not worry too much about the rules or the promises or anything else.
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