A Festival of Haiku: Voices of Women

June 12, 1992|By Robin Stratton

I push hard against this womb now grown too small to nourish grown-up life * my roots are buried in now and forever as I reach for the moon * my words put all their feathers on to greet you but you merely hovered * handmaid, housemaid, bed maid or mate (does it matter) this is not my life * always the single bed -- the table set for -- one what is the meaning? * solitude can be a birthing place -- or tomb -- for such as you and me

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