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Dear Diary
Amy Whitcomb
summer lullaby
moonlight fills the space
between the ripples
That's all I wanted when I returned home yesterday from the backpacking trip with my co-workers. I just wanted to fall into his arms and have him rock me back and forth and tell me, yes, someone understands me.
Instead, I return to a phone message: he is somewhere in deep Texas, crossing the country on a train.
I don't know why I feel so alone lately, detached from the present in general, as if I'm going through the motions but not really living most of it. Up late last night, dreaming of traveling and being somewhere where the leaves change color…
daybreak-
sunrise spreading
in the frying pan
This morning, I fleshed out my dream: driving through Oregon to visit first Jen, then Soren, and last Elizabeth. Maybe finding a place to live in Portland. The thought of being in a beautiful place with my girl friends makes me smile. As the day wears on, it sounds more and more like something I could call home.
giant sequoia-
a stack of warm pancakes
syrup spilling over
But for now, home is here in Sequoia National Park. It storms every afternoon and we are always caught during work on the trail in a downpour. It's nice this weekend to be at my cabin, hearing the thunder far away, like hearing his train roll down the tracks, far away. Today I am safe from those raging storms.
clearing sky
a snake emerges
from its skin
Amy Whitcomb
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Amy Whitcomb became a member of the Central Valley Haiku Club (CVHC)
in July 2005. Her haiku and haibun appear in Modern Haiku and the second
linked-haibun project of the CVHC. Other poems can be found in Rattlesnake
Review and on Medusa's Kitchen blogspot. Amy currently lives in Davis, California
and hopes to begin graduate studies in Ecology at the University of California,
Davis, in the Fall of 2007.