SJ ROZAN

A friend sent me a string of haiku on the memories the London bombings had brought up in him as a New Yorker who'd been here on 9/11. I wrote a set in answer about my memories of the days after and was going to post them here instead of the Sunday morning haiku I usually do. But the garden early this morning was insistent: the plants don't know anything about bombs, only rain and sun. And though I question whether the discipline has value, if it does it loses it if you stop. So I wrote a set anyway. (Matthew: is this faith?) So here are both sets.

7/7 -- 9/11

I remember this:
For weeks after, politeness,
Eyes meeting, sad smiles.

On subway, doors held,
Seats given up, swift head-turns
At any odd noise.

Firefighters, not yet
Ruffians again, greeted
With thanks and flowers.

In the garden, 7/10

Hollyhocks: late, small,
Bug-eaten, the wrong color,
But bees are happy.

Monkshood: let it stay.
I've been told it will blossom,
Though I'm dubious.

Morning glories: Scorn
Cold, wind, won't open. Divas!
Where did I get them?

I'm a writer, publishing both as SJ Rozan and, with Carlos Dews, as Sam Cabot. (I'm Sam, he's Cabot.) Here you can find links to my almost-daily blog posts, including the Saturday haiku I've been doing for years. BUT the blog itself has moved to my website. If you go on over there you can subscribe and you'll never miss a post. (Miss a post! A scary thought!) Also, I'll be teaching a writing workshop in Italy this summer -- come join us!
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (4) Share on Facebook		2005-07-10 9:19 AM Twenty-eighth Sunday A friend sent me a string of haiku on the memories the London bombings had brought up in him as a New Yorker who'd been here on 9/11. I wrote a set in answer about my memories of the days after and was going to post them here instead of the Sunday morning haiku I usually do. But the garden early this morning was insistent: the plants don't know anything about bombs, only rain and sun. And though I question whether the discipline has value, if it does it loses it if you stop. So I wrote a set anyway. (Matthew: is this faith?) So here are both sets. 7/7 -- 9/11 I remember this: For weeks after, politeness, Eyes meeting, sad smiles. On subway, doors held, Seats given up, swift head-turns At any odd noise. Firefighters, not yet Ruffians again, greeted With thanks and flowers. In the garden, 7/10 Hollyhocks: late, small, Bug-eaten, the wrong color, But bees are happy. Monkshood: let it stay. I've been told it will blossom, Though I'm dubious. Morning glories: Scorn Cold, wind, won't open. Divas! Where did I get them? Read/Post Comments (4) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top