There is no one else to watch the baby while we bring Mother to live closer to us, so I stay home. My husband drives four hours to pack her apartment alone. “Please find the photo albums,” I say. “Nothing else matters.” Hours later, he calls to say the albums were hidden in a side table. The table felt heavier than it should when he lifted it.

carpet stars
an unnamed constellation
of pills

I fall to the floor in a guttural sob. It’s been twenty years since I’ve seen a photo of myself as a child, except for that one from kindergarten in the red dress. On this earth, there are photos of me. My truth. Context. I won’t have to remember everything anymore. As soon as he gets home, I can see me.

falling star
the mythology of us
comes undone

Kat Lehmann

is a haiku poet, a potter, and a scientist based in Connecticut, USA. Her poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net and has been honored in The Haiku Foundation Touchstone Awards (individual poem), the Haiku Society of America Harold G. Henderson Haiku Award, and Japan’s Basho-an Award. She is a judge in the inaugural Trailblazer Contest. As a give-back to the larger community, Kat seeds free copies of her books in public spaces throughout the United States, and now in more than a dozen countries, as part of her Ripples of Kindness project. Her third book, Stumbling Toward Happiness, shares her notes of self-exploration.

Author’s website: https://songsofkat.com/