Haiku
cicadas'
whine
summer sinking
deep in my bones
slow
lunch hour
the owners speak
in their native tongue
rowing
oars in and out
of the mist
rickety treehouse ladder
parents fighting
down below
late summer
night
i trip over that same
bump in the sidewalk
backyard sprinkler
a leaf spirals
into late summer
autumn chill
I drive past
my old stalker
horse
chestnuts
she says she'll try
to forgive me
in the
corner booth
so much to say
my tea lukewarm
paper
crane silhouette
on the shoji screen—
child's cough
sudden downpour
all the poets
write faster
sunbaked gravestone
a drop of sake
evaporates
out of
the snowstorm—
a grey heron
wet hair
smell of baked apples
from the kitchen
About
Aubrie Cox
Aubrie
Cox is a lifelong resident of Blue Mound, Illinois.
She is currently studying English literature and writing
at Millikin University, where she first began studying
haiku in 2008. Since then, her poems have appeared in
publications such Modern Haiku, The Heron's Nest,
tinywords, bottlerockets, and Notes From
the Gean. In her spare time, Aubrie also enjoys
bookbinding and photography.
