Global Haiku • Fall 2023
Dr. Randy Brooks

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Leah Flint




Growing Pains

Leah Flint

Leah Flint (she/her) is a second-year student at Millikin University majoring in Musical Theatre. She’s originally from Leawood, Kansas, but has taken quite a liking to Illinois during her time at Millikin. She’s been writing poetry since elementary school, but this is the first time she’s taken a deep dive into the art of haiku. Although she admits that haiku was difficult for her at first (as a person who is hardly at a loss for words) she has fallen in love with the mystery, beauty, and ambiguity of haiku.

Her poetry collection “Growing Pains” is largely comprised of favorites from her family and classmates, as well as haiku that she feels showcases her writing style, creative mind, and ideal poetry aesthetic. She was drawn to this title because it encapsulates the overarching emotions in the haiku she chose. As a twenty-something college student, growing pains are not something she is unfamiliar with. She thought this title would be a great reflection of the lens of someone who feels like she’s reaching the end of “growing up.” She hopes you like her haiku, and that they speak to you in some way, however that may be.

• • •
The Reader’s Introduction:

Leah’s haiku demonstrates the imperfect and perfect aspects to humanity and relationships of all kinds. Despite the frequent use of “I” that make some haiku seem inaccessible, anyone can relate to her poems, and I feel the emotions and experiences she writes about. She perfectly executes the little life moments that we frequently dismiss in search for a bigger picture. These haiku are like coming home to a familiar person, feeling comfortable in your own body.

~Eden Niebrugge

3 a.m.
I flip to the cold side
of the pillow

playground after dark
she mourns
her childhood

nighttime blues
text from mom
at the perfect time

mind racing
the last thing
he ever said to me

grandma's banana bread
I think about

final goodbye
I throw away
your toothbrush

video call with mom 
I tell her
I feel older than I am

health nut
he cracks his tooth
on an almond

an intricate map
I plan my route
past his desk

when mom and dad are
out of their hair
sisters talk

he cracks it into the pan
and watches it fry
— my heart

watching her back
not mine

sleeping roommate
the door
creaking bloody murder

too loose clothing
hangs on
       to what’s left

puffy eyes
mom offers me her last

making out at a party
and someone else

21st birthday
asking Google about
anti-aging skincare

© 2023, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.