Deborah P Kolodji (dkolodji) wrote,
Deborah P Kolodji

Scattered pieces of diary

A snippet of an old mood. A moment from your life. One of the remarkable things about reading your published poems is that sometimes they are like bits of diary entries you have forgotten.

spring breeze
I open the mail
to a new job

- Deborah P Kolodji
Modern Haiku, Vol 42.1, Autumn 2011

When my copy of the most recent issue of Modern Haiku arrived this week, the mood in this poem seemed almost alien. I could remember it happening, but now that I've been in the new job for almost six months, the job just feels right. It is no longer new, so the emotion in this haiku almost seems as if written by someone else. Someone I used to be.

Yet, if I close my eyes, I can remember feeling exactly this way.

Other poems, other feelings, I have no trouble remembering. Those emotions and feelings are such a part of me that they remain deeply rooted in my soul.

clear and cold
the home health nurse
late again

- Deborah P Kolodji
The Heron's Nest, Vol 13.01, March 2011

his oxygen tube
stretches the length of the house
winter solitude

- Deborah P Kolodji
Wild Violets, the 2011 Yuki Teikei Society Anthology

the news
no one wants...
waning moon

- Deborah P Kolodji
Tinywords, March 29, 2011

I will miss my father the rest of my life. Most of the time now, when I think of him, I think of the things I want to call and tell him. The things I want to ask him. Other things, bits of conversations, places, etc. remind me of moments I spent with him.

I don't usually dwell on the pain of those last months. I remember the happy times. The way he inspired and encouraged me to be me.

Yet, the poems I wrote are out there. Buried in journals here and there. And, when I run across them, it hits me again that he is gone.

But, I don't regret writing the haiku. They are part of me, part of him, part of the love of a daughter and father. Part of life. Part of the diary I never write, except in the scraps of little poems, printed here and there.

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