Tag Archives: American Haiku


by Kate Garrett

Look up – trees branch like black
veins across the sky’s deepening
blue skin; I can’t hear the beat
of this word without a piece
of me shrinking –

there were things
sex & song couldn’t smooth
away, things pints of beer
wouldn’t wash off, despite his
heart making sixty promises per minute.

Maybe it doesn’t exist, a dream
like written and rewritten lyrics;
maybe it’s a distant
old thing, like stars. Redemption.
The way it bumps right off the tongue.


The girl wanders

by Kate Garrett

the shifting border
between waves, clouds and sand
where she searches

for lost things –
salt wind and foam-kissed stones
lead her away

not far enough –
her heart looks out beyond
her restless feet.