Naomi Nomura
Warmth
skeletal woods pill bugs weave a lace-leaf carpet
Losing the one for her to cuddle, she cuddles in her husband’s arms. Instead of feeding, she ices her breasts. Instead of rocking, she stands still. Mechanically she wakes, eats, and breathes.
On snowy days, her husband brings home flowers. When the air is clear, they count swans that land on the lake.
white canopy sunlight breaks through the seed pod
A Japanese housewife, Naomi Nomura is the mother of two sons and lives near Tokyo with her husband. She encountered haiku in English in 2017, and it soon joined her other interests: English, cooking, and ballroom dancing.
Tragic but beautiful.
Thank you so much for your comment!
So very sad – but the sun breaks the seed’s dormancy.
Beautiful.
Thank you very much for your comment. I learned a new word “dormancy.” Yes, after the dormancy, we can expect its growth.
Naomi,
Poignant _()_
Most understated with a lot unsaid.
Well done.
I loved your optimistic end.