LEFTOVER RIBBON EBOOK BT TIA HAYNES

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leftover ribbon

Velvet Dusk Publishing

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leftover ribbon

Cover art: Phil Openshaw
First published in 2019 by Velvet Dusk Publishing

Sacramento, CA
Copyright © 2019 Velvet Dusk Publishing
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any
manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the
use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN-13: 978-1-7329897-4-0

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for bevan, margaret, and phoebe ~ you have made all the difference

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acknowledgments

Many thanks and ever thanks to the editors and publishers of the following publications in
which present or earlier versions of these poems previously appeared:
Incense Dreams, The Cherita, Blithe Spirit, Akitsu Quarterly, Bonsai, Ephemerae, Presence, Failed Haiku,
#FemkuMag, brass bell: a haiku journal, Prune Juice, Contemporary Haibun Online, hedgerow: a journal of
small poems, Haibun Today, and Scryptic Magazine
A New Resonance 11: Emerging Voices in English-Language Haiku, a hole in the light: The Red Moon
Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2018, Four Hundred and Two Snails: The Haiku Society of
America Members’ Anthology 2018

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leftover ribbon

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Birthing Rites
As my doula cowered in the corner, I sobbed, “But if I get an epidural, I’ve failed.”
PTSD
no one left
to pray to

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first breath
I hope to never
see her last

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Harvest Time
When you were born, you didn’t cry. Not right away. Puzzled, you seemed to not ask why
about all the pain, the sudden change of scenery, but, what now? Lost and in shock I had
nothing to give. So, I stared back and thought, “You tell me.”
winnowed wheat
a piece of chaff
in the wind

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ripe pomegranates . . .
mother becomes
my name

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in the shower
clutching the wall
and struggling to breathe
i fear in birth
i’ve lost
more than blood

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late night bottle
how our rocking
becomes a prayer

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caressing her hair
I sing a lullaby
she won’t remember

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in between riding

a ferris wheel of diapers
and housework

i pull up
my unwashed hair
and write

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The Kindness of Strangers
A middle-aged woman smiles at my child who’s saying hi to every customer in the coffee shop.
“She’s learning to talk, isn’t she?”
warm muffins
how my hand slips
around the mug

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i see your baby
at your breast
and look down at my own

unused and incapable
i hear them whisper

you weren’t woman enough

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leftover ribbon overturned laundry
she tells me the astronaut finds
it’s a kite her rocket ship

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Hand in Hand

I’m eating lunch in the locker room. Again. Not even the teachers notice. My grades are good
but not good enough. I’m not thin enough to be a ballerina. I’m not comfortable enough with
creativity. And I’ve never attempted a sport.

white noise
the disappearing sound
of dreams

Fifteen years later, my daughters and I are crawling around on the carpet. “Rroarr!” We are
dinosaurs again. Soon, we will be explorers searching for jungle animals. Maybe later we’ll play
hide-and-seek or a game of chase. Paint sticks, googly eyes, and buttons will all make their way
into the mix. Then books, snuggles, and tickle fights. All day we will sing and dance until there
is no more contentment left to create.

a heartbeat away
the love I have
yet to have

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parenting book
not the only one
without a climax

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two pregnancies later

i stare at my own
low hanging fruit

wondering if i
will ever be worth
climbing again

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morning cartoons
I shake out
the last pill

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I crack my eggs
one at a time
IUD

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untouched placemats teaching manners
a trail of crumbs oh, Sisyphus!
around the tv how I understand

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car seat manual
my bachelor’s degree
useless

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rug burn
not the airplane
I used to be

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stay-at-home mom
I take my sanity out
with the trash

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after picking up
books still clutter the floor
the hallway, the bedrooms
it’s never ending
the words
that get in the way

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under her stars

we read a book
older than us both

from A to Z
we travel the world
yearning to never leave

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belly button a night away
her questions we forget to miss
endless the children

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Lost at Sea

What do I say? Have I read a book lately? When was the last time I listened to the news? Do I
have yogurt on my shirt? Are my clothes too out of date? What shows are popular now? What
movie are they are talking about? Do they think I’m boring? Am I bringing up the kids too
much? Do I look awkward? When was the last time I plucked my eyebrows? What’s in my
shoe? Is that a raisin in my shoe? I hope that’s a raisin in my shoe. Are the kids okay? Did they
eat well? Did I pack their toothbrushes? Do they have enough diapers? Did they fall asleep at a
decent hour? Wait a minute, what were we talking about? Did my husband notice I wasn’t
paying attention? Was someone telling a joke? Am I a joke?

spinning top
how the colors
become one

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whir of the dishwasher
today
no mindfulness

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meal planning
deciding which night
not to care

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Good Enough
I begin to question whether I need organic water too.
playground stares
my daughter’s unkempt hair
flying free

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mom friends
we compare
our comparisons

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Digging Deep
Most mornings I fumble around for what to do. Without a schedule or a paycheck, the
motivation to accomplish is either crushing (to prove my worth) or absent (what worth do I
have, anyway?). A career might be nice. At least it would be a tangible representation of
achievement. I mean, for how long do I want it to read “homemaker” on my taxes?
half-eaten sandwich
my children snatch
the rest away

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Down the Drain
Sitting in the bathroom, again. My life now revolves around getting a toddler to use a toilet.
And she knows it, too.
blank wall
memorizing
every crack

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i hear the pediatrician’s warning
as my children delight
in another movie
biting my nails
i fear their joy is another
one of my failures

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locked door

a pillow
swallows my scream

how close i was
to doing what
i promised i never would

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Rebirth
In our living room is a large south facing window. The children often sit in the afternoon light
and play or read. I’ve tried many times to capture the beauty of these moments but have yet to
find words adequate enough. For too long I have thought of myself as nothing more than
brain and bones. Yet, when I watch them gleam in the sunlight, I wonder if there may be
more.
anointing oil
the soft drip
of dew

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Birds of a Feather
“I want to marry mommy!” declares my three-year-old daughter.
G.I. Joe
the way she fluffs
his dress

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as i turn to leave
you call out
“mommy, i’m scared!”
i hold you in the dark
not telling you the truth that
this fear may never change

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Present and Accounted For

Sitting in the nursery, reading all your current favorites, we sink deeply into one another. This
moment, while your whole body still fits snugly into my lap, makes me almost forget. Your
weight, your warmth, is a balm to my mind. Our embrace, picturesque. I almost forget the pills
I take three times a day. The days I’m not sure I can do this any longer. The weeks, months,
years, spent dancing on the edge of madness. Here, the seconds expand into lifetimes. I have
yet to disappoint you. Yet to become someone you no longer recognize. Yet to be a source of
shame. I am still the one you run to after you fall. Still the one you call for in the middle of the
night. Still mama. I am not what I was, I am not what I will be, I am who you believe me to be.
Safe and sound.

locked door
the way my nurse says
“good night”

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after bedtime
their voices drift
through the apartment
i wonder
how they learned
to laugh

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Tia Haynes is an award-winning poet and stay-at-home mom. She was featured in the
anthology A New Resonance 11: Emerging Voices in English-Language Haiku and has appeared in
both print and online journals such as The Heron’s Nest, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, and Prune Juice.
As a survivor of postpartum depression, she works to engage other mothers in the art of
haiku—a marvelous healing outlet for the complex realities of modern motherhood.

[email protected]
www.adaliahaiku.com

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