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Elaine Wilburt

Overful

Bins brim with the last of the peas and asparagus, early tomatoes and corn. The morning sun warms my cheeks and belly. Bobbing past the bright pink radishes and soft lettuces at the farmers’ market, I plan menus for the next few days before buying anything. This takes much longer than it used to.

In front of me, a man is walking as slowly as I do although he is not browsing. His daughter’s tiny, dimpled fist clings to an index finger, and his gait matches hers. They pause at a stall while I trundle on.

After I buy spinach and tomatoes for tonight’s pasta, the pair passes by me, her smiling face and empty hand stained bright red.

Father's Day—
baskets of heart-shaped
strawberries

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About the Author

A graduate of Middlebury College, Elaine Wilburt lives in Maryland with her husband, five children, mother, and one spoiled dog. She began writing haiku about two years ago and her poems have appeared in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, and Wales Haiku Journal, among others.