written at the Albany Bulb

On April 1st I started a haiku project. My husband has been diagnosed with colon cancer and he's trying to live in the now, pausing to meditate and appreciate, so I'm following his example. While at the hospital last week I wrote some haiku (or haiku-like poems, depending on how pernsnickety you are about definitions). And I thought they were pretty good. So I set myself the goal of stopping somewhere each day and writing at least 3 haiku, preferably at one sitting or in a short space of time.

Today K & I went to the Albany Bulb, a former dump for construction materials that nature has reclaimed. It's a park now. It extends into the SF Bay in the shape of a bulb. Lots of people take their dogs. Shortly after we arrived I saw one dog that, for a split second, I thought had only three legs. As we were leaving a real three-legged dog bopped by - one forelimb, two back.

As we rounded the bend to the flattest, most exposed part of the park, where it's just slightly above the water, we saw a young woman in white, baring her shoulders to sunlight just beginning to warm as the high fog burned away. She had two companions - young men in faded green or blue jackets. They were all quiet, and at first I thought the boys must be photographers and the girl a model. But when we came upon them, the woman returned my smile and I said, "Here on a photo shoot?" She said, "Just enjoying it."

As K & I left we looked back to see the woman had walked out in her long white dress and white fur to the point, while the young men shared one chunk of concrete some distance away. One of the men was smoking.

People paint or sculpt the old rubble so there's often something new to see.

As we neared the paved drive a tall young black man in baggy clothes passed us telling his cell phone, "Chemotherapy will fuck you up."



faces of bright yellow
painted on the rubble



four diving birds on the water
no diving birds on the water



surf so sleepy
it doesn't even turn over



time to go?
just a little more breeze
for our backs



the sound of
stepping stones
rocking



on a tree
naked but for hanging shoes
Kent hangs the shoe



ahead Kent
fords the puddle



the puddles are blue now too



grand plume of tail
on that dog
I'd be proud of it