by Becky Harblin
The quiet morning,
holds her
hands out to birds
just fledged,
gently calming
the air,
readying for first
flight.
The water’s mirror
reflecting the world,
a mirror broken
by rising steam,
the heat that takes
us to our angry place,
our lowly spots,
our greed for singularity,
wanting to own the rights
to God and oil.
The mirror
broken, nothing but
bad luck now.
Becky Harblin, a sculptor who works in concrete and soapstone also writes daily haiku and senryu. Each morning starts with these meditative short "in-the-moment' poems. Becky lives on a farm with sheep in a rural county in upstate New York. After years of working in Manhatten, she moved to the more pastoral setting where life is no less demanding but offers different observations and opportunities. Her poetry has been published on New Verse News, and North Country Literary Journal.
