The Vines {a haibun}

I step outside my front door at sunset, stooping to pick up a loose paper. It is wet with rain, and the writing is smudged. The handwritten words sink in: “Please clean vines off home”. It is signed by the property manager. He gives me one week to comply.

There are no vines to my left or right. Grumbling, I walk around to the back of the house and discover the offender. It stretches from ground to roof, weaving its way through the slats of vinyl siding.

How will I reach that height without a tall ladder? What if I fall standing on something? I do not have the proper cutting tool. There is no one to help me. It is getting too dark to see.

That night, I cry softly. How did the vines grow so tall so fast? Would I need to hire someone? I imagine the stubbornness of the vines–their thickness, their invasiveness, their resistance.

Hot summer morning…
kitchen scissors snipping vines–
one by one they fall.

Wealth Management

Need a safe room?
For diamonds? Family heirlooms?
For gold and guns?
Deeds?
Winning lottery ticket
to hide from fawning relations?
Rare paintings?
None of these?

Unless they blind you,
or cut off your hands,
or put you in solitary,
can’t you still make
a cup of tea for pennies?

Until they set up a Payday Loans
where the library used to be,
can’t you always find good books?
Pens? Paper?
Opportunity?
Can’t you wake to sunrise?
Watch it set?
Listen for the winds of change?
Pet a cat?
Smell the coffee?
Forget?

{It’s still poetry month…and although I did not write 30 poems, I did read and write more poetry than last month, so that’s something.

This was inspired by another great Real Toads prompt: Write a poem using questions, and consider answering them. I decided to write the answers in the form of questions also…}

Prayers

In the last year or two,
love rejoiced with the truth,
day by day, each time I prayed–

aware of human crimes,
crashing symbols oftimes–
in the last year, my love.

Our God does not charge,
and love does not fail.
Love speaks truth and fairytale.

Angelic tongues will not prevail,
only prayers to God and you,
day by day, my love

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{It’s already day twelve of poetry month. This is my third poem. I’ve been enjoying practicing new forms, so I thought I would try the cascade poem suggested by dVerse earlier this month. I’m linking to today’s prompt at Toads, which is love. This poem is inspired in part by the love described in chapter 13 of 1 Corinthians–which is a poem in and of itself–as well as the traditional prayer, Day by Day.}