Global Haiku • Fall 2019
Dr. Randy Brooks

My Own Skin

by
Morgan Bole

Morgan Bode is a historian and oboist, and a lifelong poet who is excited to share haiku with you today. Morgan is inspired by academic pursuits, friends and brother, and most importantly a favorite companion, Banana the dog.

recovering anorexic
scales can't measure
the years lost

one leg and the other
the space in between
breakfast and dinner

the sun setting
walking the dog
a stranger follows me home

I am the moss
the way she sticks
to long dead things

she shows herself in blooms
breathe deep
the goddess is alive

wishing I could walk alone
to know the trees at twilight
male privilege

at the apple orchard
the receptionist refers to us
as a family

fire in their lungs
the runner
a little dragon

lonely lunch
a sparrow kamikazes
the cafeteria window

the quirks she used to love
are now your bad habits
nail-biter

our damp leather boots
huddled outside
the tent we always share

on tiptoes
through the wildflowers
still too heavy

the lakes
we can no longer swim in
beer cans

like a dog
that eats its own vomit
you call me again

class warfare
eating grocery store grapes
before the checkout

undercurrent
you won't notice me
until I overwhelm you

drunk at nine am
dad assures
issnotbecausahyew

in the silent car
the girl grants permission
for the moon to follow her

my brother's long shadow
only by moonlight
thinning

half-baked
our drunken attempt
to make box brownies

nail biting down to the quick my answer arrives
 

shooting pains
we massage our wrists
in just the same way

the night spins around us
rain on the tent roof
just like my dream

psychedelic
I wasn’t expecting
to see my own skin