Elmo doesn’t laugh,
perched in a highchair, waiting
to be found again.
Copyright Emily Livingstone 2018
Haiku for Toddler Hide-and-Seek with Tickle-Me-Elmo
poem
The Quiet in the Noise
I lie here, looking
for the quiet in the noise.
The world goes, goes, goes
and people walk, shout,
cling, cry, soothe, laugh, and throw things.
When the world won’t stop
(and it never will, really)
take what you can get.
Poem for the Spider Outside the Back Door
In honor of National Poetry Day, I’m returning to my blog with this poem about today’s early morning encounter
copyright Emily Livingstone 2017
your expanded web
had filaments spreading across the doorway…
…across the porch…
…down to the garbage bin.
When I opened the screen door,
your web shook, and you
drummed your legs angrily
against the center, ignoring
my recoil.
Your kind have reclaimed our yard of late.
There is one on the fence,
by the front of the house,
and one in the pine tree out back.
There are webs in the grass
and in windowsills.
Be warned, spiders.
Some places are too close,
too frequented,
and you are not welcome.
But, please, do not send your children
inside to crawl
from under the bed
to bite our skin at night
or march down our throats.
Live in the forgotten corners,
out of reach, and feast on what you find.
We both are selfish,
and we will both defend
what we imagine to be ours.
##
Is it true that we swallow spiders when we sleep?
Haiku for Not Weeding the Garden
The flowers reach up
from the lively jungle,
grasping for the sun.
Haiku for Trying to Buy Solar Eclipse Glasses Online
Studying the list,
seeking approved shades that won’t
burn our wond’ring eyes.
*
I did find some, finally. I definitely should’ve ordered sooner, but…I didn’t. Thanks, Museum of Science, Boston–I await the eclipse glasses! I know I haven’t written here in awhile. I will try to be better! I taught summer school last month and then was sick, and I’ve taken my spare moments for other writing projects. Hope all are enjoying the summer!
Poem for Not Vacuuming Enough
Fur clouds drift from under furniture when we walk.
My daughter scoops them up,
handing them to me urgently, saying
“Trash,” quickly, in her eighteen-month-old voice.
Bits of everything lie dead on the floor,
waiting for a quick, sucking rapture
before the gathering of dust and debris begins again.
Haiku for a Rhododendron in Full Bloom
Pink trumpets, calling bees,
glowing with color, hiding
the abandoned nest.
Haiku for Two Toddlers Playing
Here’s the ball–where? Here!
Open–shut. No! And sitting
in a red wagon.
2 Haiku for a Mouse in the House
A blob vanishes
into a crack, and I freeze:
mouse in the house.
*
All hands–vacuum, scrub,
and jump at every shadow.
“Leave now,” I warn it.
Haiku for Callous Self-Interest
Gathered, laughing, they
toast lost compassion, boasting
of a voting win.
Unmapped Country within Us 