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Haiku by Jill Strachan

Jill Strachan writes that at the precise moment she retired as executive director of the Capitol Hill Arts Workshop (CHAW), haiku started springing into her head. A Hill resident since 1977, she can often be seen walking the brick sidewalks with her dog Freddy or, on weekends, with her partner Jane. She notes that while she took a poetry class in college, she had never before created her own. Below is a selection of her work.

Written while walking
crystallized moments in my
head pop as light bulb.

Robins, ants abound—
Harbingers of life anew.
Summer heat awaits.

Woman with yoga
mat runs north passes same
walking south in bliss.

Scooters everywhere.
Whether on sidewalk or street,
these things are scary.

June 2018

Desperate people
made more so. Discarded by
shameful politics.

43 Years

Water drips on stone—
sexual harassment’s toll
erodes over time.

Memory Conflation

We forget more than
we know, changing facts to suit
what our minds become.

White Tears*

4 black teenagers
huddle-walking on sidewalk,
I pause—cross the street.


Pot Luck

On my plate a mix
of odd, dispersed, flavored foods.
Which to savor last?

On the Metro

Me, older woman;
peek at young lovers. Was I
ever so ardent?

If you would like to have your poem considered for publication, please send it to klyon@literaryhillbookfest.org. (There is no remuneration.)


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