Spring comes ’round again, as Monday follows Sunday, as law follows order. She waters the houseplants, gives her hair a once over with her brush, takes a phone call from me checking in. “I’ll be alright.” She pulls a blouse and pair of slacks on to complement the gully greens. Algae sprouts infiltrate brown undergrowth beneath the kitchen window. Rain water comes, and has a way. Filling cracks, covering grievances, making the season tender. I find she’s left the front door unlocked. Napping with eyeglasses on. Mother’s barefoot. It doesn’t make sense. A cold kettle on the stove. Whistle-less. With little resistance, she’s straight as a board fresh-fallen from a barn before bark beetles come. Both spider-veined hands are serene by her side. Dicot leaves in a flower garden. Little beautiful bones. Church organ keys are depressed.
Inspired by Ligo Haibun Challenge quote: “Perfect order is the forerunner of perfect horror.” -Carlos Fuentes haiku in conjunction with flatfroghaiku 🐸