I have many memories with friends. I think of when we make homemade pizzas and gather in the living room, play board games, watch movies, and just enjoy being around each other.

I like being at school on the weekends with my friends, but also enjoy going home at fall break and gathering with my old friends for Halloween. Carving pumpkins and reminiscing over old times. The kitchen is warm from hot cocoa, apple cider, caramel apples, and cookies. Just lots of old memories and embarrassing stories being shared. Enjoying the old times and realizing how fast time is going by. Beginning to feel old and wondering how I got where I am at now? When did I become a “grown up?” Fun but also realizing that we are grown now and just trying to enjoy the time we have together instead of rushing through all of our stress from school or work.

friends laughing
sharing memories over
caramel apple cider

sips of hot cocoa
in between
friends' laughing

uncontrolled laughter
cider spewing
out of her nose

Over the break I had trouble writing haiku. I was, however, inspired to write a haibun. Hope it's appropriate enough and not too late for the haibun kukai.

Black Friday: called such because it's the day that merchant's profits supposedly go into the black. Sort of has an ominous sound to it though. As I was driving out of town at 3 A.M. I was inclined to agree. Seeing all the angry people greedily crowding the entrances of the stores at 4 in the morning really brings out that Christmas spirit. One of the best places hands down to witness this season of love and sharing is Walmart. As I stood outside the doors, joined by a few hundred other people, I really wondered how much saving a little money was worth. They opened the front doors and all the people tried to cram into the entryway as if their lives depended on it.

After being pushed and shoved and stepped on several times, I made it towards the front of the barrier ropes Walmart had set up in order to keep the people properly contained until the store opened. At this point I wasn't sure if I wanted to shop till I dropped or perhaps shoot myself. . . till I dropped.

The Christmas spirit ran high:

"Go to the back of the line!" one middle aged man shouted at a teenager who was crowding the ropes.

"What are you gonna do?" he replied.

"Hey! Go to the back of the line! I didn't see your ass here at 3 in the morning waiting outside in the cold."

A shoving match ensued. The two were separated by some random heroes and right on cue a stereotypically overweight and jolly woman shouted out, "Come on everybody. It's Christmas. We should all be merry and get along."

Had this been a joyous family holiday film, we may all have agreed and hugged each other and drank eggnog. Instead, someone told her to shut the fuck up. The ropes were finally pulled back and what ensued could best be compared to the running of the bulls. The store had opened at 5 A.M. and by 5:30, nearly all the great "sale" items were gone. Although I left with what I had come for, I resolved to never, under any circumstances, engage in the Black Friday holiday rush ever again.

Black Friday
people shoving through the entrance
in the spirit of Christmas

As children, my two brothers and I always spent summer evenings hunting “lightning bugs”. Because it was getting to be dark outside, we were constrained by our yard’s boundaries. Somehow, the fireflies knew to cross into our neighbor’s yards to save themselves. I remember sitting on our porch watching the lights blinking next door, while our yard remained dark.

Since there were no lightning bugs to chase, we usually requested a snack to eat while we watched them dance in other yards. Many times, we sat in our pajamas, eating fruit. Sometimes juicy watermelon, other times apples or strawberries. We would sit outside telling scary stories an enjoying being kids. Often, our parents joined in. They would tell us stories about their childhoods. I think that this is what I miss most about being a child.

fireflies and
fresh fruit
children’s legs swing from the porch

childhood memories
told on a summer evening:
my parent’s

lightning bugs
just a yard away
my glass jar empty

As children, my two brothers and I always spent summer evenings hunting “lightning bugs”. Because it was getting to be dark outside, we were constrained by our yard’s boundaries. Somehow, the fireflies knew to cross into our neighbor’s yards to save themselves. I remember sitting on our porch watching the lights blinking next door, while our yard remained dark.
Since there were no lightning bugs to chase, we usually requested a snack to eat while we watched them dance in other yards. Many times, we sat in our pajamas, eating fruit. Sometimes juicy watermelon, other times apples or strawberries. We would sit outside telling scary stories an enjoying being kids. Often, our parents joined in. They would tell us stories about their childhoods. I think that this is what I miss most about being a child.

[Some variations I suggest are, in respective order to the ones above:

Fireflies and fruit
Juice dripping
Parents join the night

Mom’s childhood
Stories from the past
Summer evenings

Longingly
Gazing next door
Empty firefly catcher

Fruit and summer nights:
Fireflies fill the neighbor’s yard
Dad’s memories fill ours]

My mom and two of her friends are very close. They gather and go out for each other’s birthdays, they go to the show together- they’re just bested of friends. They do everything together.

The times that are really special are when they get together for the holidays. These two haiku make me remember of the times her two friends come to the house. First of all, our house is about fifty some years old so that means that you can hear noises and sounds from outside. I know when someone drives into our driveway and I can hear them talking walking up to the house so I know they’re here. Right out of the car I can hear them laughing from something they were talking about in the car and usually it is I that opens the door for them so after I give out my hugs and kisses my mom enters the room and that’s when the fun starts.

Right off the back they begin crackin’ up as they enter the kitchen. They sit down and conversate at the kitchen table as my mom fix them plates. Usually I’m in there at the beginning when they eat then after that I leave and go to my room and they stay at that table all night or they move back into the front room and stay there forever. Good times, good times.

All Up In their business
being nosy
they laugh

eating with aunties
mom’s friends
till the end

hugs & kisses hello
. . .
hugs, kisses, & advice goodbye

When Mom’s Friends Come to Visit

Right off the back my mom’s two friends begin crackin’ up as they enter our kitchen. They sit down and converse at the kitchen table as my mom fixes them plates. Usually, I stay in there until they are done eating. Then, I leave for my room. However, my mom and her friends stay up all night just like three girls at a slumber party.

car ride conversations
we laugh over
old power struggles

A few years ago for Christmas I bought my friend and I tickets to see a musical in Chicago. We went there early to play in a concert, and then enjoy the city for the day. Once we got there, I discovered she had never been in the city before. We went all over, going in stores (Though never buying), and she enjoyed many firsts that day. One of them was going through her first revolving door. Another was seeing a panhandler.

The whole week after that, though she kept talking about the revolving doors, and how she went through seventeen of them that day. We had performed in front of over a thousand people, we saw Tim Curry, and met Hank Azaria, and all she could talk aobut was the revolving doors! Finally I mentioned to her how I was bewildered at how she thought that was so cool in comparison and she explained to me that She knew everything else was going to happen, and ANYONE would have thought those were cool, but she got to enjoy something new and fresh that most people just see as part of everyday.

laughter shines through
between each door—
city christmas

curtains open-
new players
on an old stage

stading ovation given
to those who won't perform—
Closing Night

light snow for a
stale holiday—
still two more shopping days

My grandfather died when I was seven years old. After his death, I replaced him as my grandmother’s grave partner. Every Memorial Day, we went to Graceland Cemetery and walked from grave to grave. We removed old flowers from my grandfather’s, my Uncle Bob’s, and my cousin Nicole’s grave, replacing them with new brightly colored flowers. At each stop, my grandma held a short conversation, reviewing things that had occurred since our last visit; always remembering to mention that I was with her. Once we were done there, we traveled to Mt. Zion, IL to tend to the graves of my great-grandmother, great-grandfather, great-aunt, and two family friends.

One ironic memory was that my grandfather always remembered his turn to the Mt. Zion cemetery by this small, plain white house. Not until after his death, my grandmother noticed the name of the street: Roberts. It was ironic because my grandfather’s name was Robert!

I remember the talks that we had and I always promised that I would visit her grave everyday and I really could not wrap my mind around a life without my grandma. She passed away in 2003. I rarely find time to visit the cemetery. However, I think about her everyday. Sometimes, I wonder if she is disappointed.

walking by a neglected grave
and wonder
where is her family?

Looking at a couple’s grave
his death in 1987, hers in 2003:
a long time without him

year after year;
who will care for their graves
when she is gone?

Graceland

For years, my grandparents tended to the gravesites of several family members and close friends in two local cemeteries. When I was just seven years old, my grandfather died of lung cancer. After his death, I replaced him as my grandmother’s “cemetery partner”. Every Memorial Day, we went to Graceland Cemetery and walked from grave to grave. We removed old flowers from my grandfather’s, my Uncle Bob’s, and my cousin Nicole’s grave, replacing them with new brightly colored flowers. At each stop, my grandma held a short conversation, reviewing details of life’s occurrences since our last visit; always remembering to mention that I was with her. Once finished, we traveled to Mt. Zion, IL to tend to the graves of my great-grandmother, great-grandfather, great-aunt, and two family friends.

One ironic memory was that my grandfather always remembered his turn to the Mt. Zion cemetery by this small, plain white house. Not until after his death, my grandmother noticed the name of the street: Roberts. It was ironic because my grandfather’s name was Robert!

I remember the talks that we had during our cemetery visits. At times, conversation would turn to talk about her inevitable death. As a child, I could not wrap my mind around a life without my grandma. I always promised that I would visit her grave everyday. She passed away in 2003. With such a busy life, I rarely find time to visit the cemetery. However, I think about her everyday. Sometimes, I wonder if she is disappointed.

her name nearly hidden
by the overgrown grass
a neglected grave

weathered gravestones;
who will tend to them
when she is gone?

Lost Time

My grandfather died when I was seven years old. After his death, I replaced him as my grandmother’s grave partner. Every Memorial Day, we went to Graceland Cemetery and walked from grave to grave. We removed old flowers from my grandfather’s, my Uncle Bob’s, and my cousin Nicole’s grave, replacing them with new brightly colored flowers. At each stop, my grandma held a short conversation, reviewing things that had occurred since our last visit; always remembering to mention that I was with her. Once we were done there, we traveled to Mt. Zion, IL to tend to the graves of my great-grandmother, great-grandfather, great-aunt, and two family friends.

One ironic memory was that my grandfather always remembered his turn to the Mt. Zion cemetery by this small, plain white house. Not until after his death, my grandmother noticed the name of the street: Roberts. It was ironic because my grandfather’s name was Robert!

I remember the talks that we had and I always promised that I would visit her grave everyday and I really could not wrap my mind around a life without my grandma. She passed away in 2003. I rarely find time to visit the cemetery. However, I think about her everyday. Sometimes, I wonder if she is disappointed.

where is her family?
an isolated surname
snow-covered grave

he left in '87
she joined him in '03
a couple's grave

weathered gravestones
who will care for them
when she is gone

Early summer is the best time to catch fireflies because they are all finally starting to come back out, and it hasn’t gotten to hot out yet – there aren’t as many mosquitoes. They fill the air with their blips of light, moving around on a winding path.

For my sisters and I, when I was younger, the first glow of a firefly was the first sign of the coming summer. Our lamp post had a light sensor on it and when the light came on, we had to come inside. If those fireflies or “lightning bugs” as we called them, were out, we begged our parents to let us stay out just a little bit longer to catch them. We would take old peanut butter jars or Cool Whip bowls or butter dishes (even peanut cans) and poke holes in the lids. Then we would go outside and catch as many lightning bugs as we could and put them in whatever container we had for that night. Then we would get grass and twigs and leaves and put them in the dish with the bugs so that they would have a playground and food for the night. They became our little pets for a while. If the dish was clear, we would watch them and see how often they lit up or what they did in the container, whether they ate the grass or climbed on the twigs or tried to get out through the lid. Sometimes, we would shake it around to see how they would react.
The next night we would take the dish back outside and dump them into the grass, letting them go. We would start all over again, catching as many as we could. Sometimes we had contests to see who could get the most lightning bugs. The process would repeat. As it got later in the summer we would come in and my mom would have to put some pink liquid medicine all over us because we had so many mosquito bites. Being a young child though, I did not care.

Sometimes, we would sneak over into the neighbors yard to get lightning bugs from there because it looked like there were more over there. Even though I do not parade around my yard with a butter dish trying to start a collection of lightning bugs, I still catch them in the air every now and then and hold them on my hand until they fly away. It keeps me young.

crickets chirp
signaling the start
of the hunt

summer night
lit with the glow
of the bugs

a lightning bug!
but the light
is on

of course…
that kiss
was nothing

a twig
tiny legs
crawl to the top

Jealousy is an emotion I often struggle with personally. I’m a competitive baton twirler, and sometimes I can be overwhelmingly competitive. Mind games abound. I remember Karrissa watching me do my three baton routine at nationals. She knew I had won two years prior and hadn’t competed the previous year. She watched me with her friend. Then, she did her routine flawlessly. I was jealous when she finished, forgetting that she may have problems that I would not want in her life. I was being purely egotistical at that point:

i do
nothing but
fault(her)

It is her fault I falter. Pure and simple, the blame game. Blame and shame. I play the game, and I blame myself for not practicing.

mo(u)rning
i drop
the disc

I practice twirling in the mornings at the DISC, and I mourn my many drops. No one gets to the top without practice, and time is not currently on my side so practice=drops. Moving away, I’d like some universality here . . . Personal writing is great . . . but who in the heck understands it but the author. In my life, I’m jealous of my twirling teacher because she actually has students, and I’ve claimed that I would not take on any students because good business tactics deem that I don’t.

mom hurries
fruit snacks
for breakfast

Andrea, oh Andrea! How funny that girl can be! I wrote that one for her. One year we all marched in Millikin’s homecoming parade, and she told me, “Amy, I ate fruit snacks for breakfast. That must’ve been 5-7 years ago. I get to work with Andrea tomorrow. Exciting stuff. I might tell her about this poem. I wonder if she remembers that moment . . . Probly not.

a secret smile
wants me
to teach

Ha, ha, ha! I guarantee you must be crazy to teach = your mind must dysfunction “far and wee like the crazy little balloon man.” Sorry ee cummings, i just butchered your line biiiiggggg time. That’s not what you meant, not what you meant at all. whatever! Okay, so I’m getting a bit crazy . . . Back to jealousy and fireflies and memories. No more tangents.

jarred fireflies
in a pickle

sister has
better luck
catching fireflies

In my opinion, a bonfire is one of the most memorable kind of group gathering that a person can have. There are so many great things that are encompassed within a bonfire. You have a gorgeous setting in nature during the fall season. It brings many friends close together, figuratively and literally because everyone has to be close to the fire. There is a lot of laughing and joking, but when there is a lull in the conversation everyone starts to get lost in the fire. Suddenly, all sorts of memories are popping up in your head, and you look back on a bunch of different things or look forward to the future. How many other kinds of parties can do those kinds of things all in one night?

hot, wonderful cocoa
burnt tongue
. . . I hate hot cocoa

in the flames
my future revealed
I smile

fire extinguished
in the wind
ashes dance

In my opinion, a bonfire is one of the most memorable group gathering a person can have. There are so many great things encompassed within a bonfire. You have a gorgeous nature setting during fall. It brings many friends close together, figuratively and literally because everyone has to be close to the fire. There are a lot of laughter and jokes, but when there is a lull in the conversation, everyone starts to get lost in the fire. Suddenly, all sorts of memories pop up in your head, and you look back on many different things and look forward to the future. How many other parties can do all these things in one night?

full circle
at the heart heat—
bondfire

Bonfire Prophecies

A bonfire is one of the most memorable types of group gathering that people can experience. Many great things are encompassed within a bonfire. A gorgeous fall setting in nature, many friends brought close together. Close, figuratively and literally, because everyone sits in close proximity to the fire. The jokes and laughter seem endless. However, when there is a lull in the conversation, each person seems lost in his own thoughts. Staring at the flames, memories replay behind your eyes and you begin to look forward to the future.

staring into the flames
I smile:
my future revealed

The day after Thanksgiving. It is the largest shopping day of the year and my mom and I always get up at four in the morning to drive over to the big stores and wait in line so that we can get the early bird specials. It is one of the coldest mornings of the year for me, because not only is it cold because it is early, it is also cold because we have to wait outside in lines to enter the stores when they open. We make a day of it, going all over the place hitting up all the stores with the best deals, in a strategic order of course, and buying things for ourselves as well as trying to get our Christmas shopping done. It is such a fun day, even though it starts very early. Even though I detest winter and the cold weather, I will never be able to fully enjoy Christmas without a little snow.

cozy couch
warm glow of the tree
a perfect winter night

busy stores
heated with crowds
hustling

open window
blowing steam
off the stove

frosted windows
a holiday front
for the rush

shining eyes
reflecting
the gift wrap glow