Global Haiku • Spring 2016
Dr. Randy Brooks

To Feel the Sun

by
Marah Kittelson

I have always loved poetry. I believe it allows us a sense of human understanding that not many other art forms do. Through it, we can not only imagine what the speaker is feeling, but reflect on our own lives, as well. My haiku collection is made up of poetry I believe caters to this phenomenon of being in another person’s mind. These haiku are based on those little moments: the ones we live for, or possibly dread. They are often moments of realization, clarity, and peace. To me, they are a reminder that life is too short to let any moment, good or bad, slip away.

About the Author

Marah Kittelson is a lover of life. Hailing from northern Wisconsin, this energetic 20 year old is pursuing her Bachelor of Music in Music Education with a vocal emphasis. She hopes to be the primary music teacher for a small school, so that she can teach general music, band, and choir. If that small school happens to be in India or Norway, she won’t complain. Marah is an active member of Sigma Alpha Iota, Pi Beta Phi, and Alpha Lambda Delta, and is about to take on the position of Vice President and Large Group Coordinator for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, and is the Children’s Director at Renaissance Church in downtown Decatur, where she will be working this summer. 

                                                 the sun

                      to feel
           my face

lift

praying to forget          regret

falling asleep
to dreams
morning comes too soon

chirping gaily
a language of their own
mother and daughter

hands, calloused and cracked
he does this
for us

summer night
she snuggles
on daddy’s lap

earthy bass
he said
my name

standing in line
one last look
goodbye, Dad

cicadas at sunset
we wait to hear
his pickup on the gravel

head out the window
smiling in the warm wind
dog-girl

chubby legs kicking
at the pew ahead
a fly bumps the stained glass

head of the table
he enjoys the view
years in the making

tea
a drink with jam and bread
          a struggling friend

cold spring afternoon
toes buried
under his legs

sharing the sink
talking through the mirror
foamy toothpaste grin

catch in the park
a new friend
feels old

at the stove
his hands rest
on my apron’s ties

Grandma’s porch swing strains
her mother cradles
her daughter’s child

will she remember
the days
of silken white hair