For the more Kerouac type of Haiku writer.  (Not strictly 5-7-5!)

 

She lives in a sauna with cold hands and we all just sweat for her.

 

Gets a weekly flower –
We talk about it for seven days.

 

She’s no longer allowed to pick up things off the floor.
Still does.
When waiting to hear her breathe
All my thoughts of what else my life could be
Flee.

 

She repeats slowly and holds me hostage

until I pronounce polish correctly.

 

Somehow, saying “I love you” in Polish seems much more meaningful.

 

 

Every year I plant in their garden

To honor her parents

and hope not to screw up.

 

When she reads her old entries

and laughs

I know I’m doing my job.

 

I’ll never forget the 16 hours in the hospital

when you didn’t know who we were.