Vera Constantineau

Rooms in old houses are never square

that’s what my brother always says when he tries to repair something or tries to build something for mom. I don’t know what he means, though. I’m good with shapes and my room looks square to me.

He should come in here to the quiet because now he is saying things that are going to cost him. Mom made a swear jar on Friday after she heard me say damn. I pay a quarter a word, but she said my brother has to pay a dollar. I bet he’s up to five dollars already.

I hear him say it’s the hammer’s fault. Mom says too bad, baby, pay up. Now I can hear him dropping coins in the jar. Mom says she needs a new laptop and this is her version of a go-fund-me. I don’t know what that means, but I hear her laughing and I feel happy.

bathroom shelf
the toothbrushes lean
toward the window

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About the Author

Vera Constantineau’s poetic focus is haibun, haiku, senryu and tanka. A member of Haiku Canada and the Haiku Society of America, she served as poet laureate in the City of Greater Sudbury (2020-2022), offering a podcast that gained a following worldwide. Her first haibun collection, Enlightened by Defilement, is scheduled for release in April 2023 with Latitude 46 Publishing.