Haiku, Alaska, Kayaking Kristin Knox Haiku, Alaska, Kayaking Kristin Knox

Southeast

Poems composed on the Marine Highway ferry to Haines.

 

Poems composed on the Marine Highway ferry to Haines.


Juneau

Rainforest welcome:
skunk cabbage brightens wet trails,
fog stitches the woods.

Marine Highway

Fjord currents ferry
skiers northbound for Skagway;
I will paddle back.

Symposium

Truck with boats pulls in—
Hera finds me on the pier,
paws parting the rain.

Haines

Hammer museum,
people exist between scars
of avalanches.

XtraTuf

Brown boots everywhere—
locals wear them like logic,
the tall ones only.

The Maul

Bear spray at my hip—
a constant, like a cell phone
with no reception.

Distillery

Whisky tastes of sea;
Alaskans drink like weather—
deep, sudden, stormy.

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Haiku, Colorado, Shoulder Season Kristin Knox Haiku, Colorado, Shoulder Season Kristin Knox

Mud Season

Ski school is closed.

 

Ski school is closed:


Closing Day

Tourists clear out fast.
Now the mountains hum with mud—
just the way we like.

Cheap Dinner

Snow tires still on.
Main Street maître d calls out:
“Half off for locals!”

Scene Change

Rivers rise and run—
an idea caught in between.
The thaw rushes on.

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Skiing, Haiku Kristin Knox Skiing, Haiku Kristin Knox

Spring Break

Poems about most of March.

 

Most of March:


Never-Evers

Magic carpet hums—
never-evers in neon
skitter like pennies.

Texas

Texas Week arrives:
time to ski fast, have some fun—
howdy, altitude.

College Kids

Skiing bikinis—
twenties spill toward the future
like snowmelt downhill.

4:00 To Town

Après hum rises—
music drifting up the slopes
like heat off spring snow.

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Haiku, Shoulder Season Kristin Knox Haiku, Shoulder Season Kristin Knox

29 hr (1,957 miles)via I-76 W and I-70 W

Poems composed on the drive from New York to Colorado.

 

Poems composed on the drive from New York to Colorado:


Orders

“Stand up every hour,”
the oncologist instructed.
Long way home ahead.

Borders

State line, then next one—
recovery marked in miles,
not medical charts.

Indie

Exit Indiana—
His mom’s thumbprints cooling slow;
we stay one hour.

Night Roads

We go half-asleep—
mercury lights, semi trucks,
lanes of passing ghosts.

Southern Route

Morning in Kansas;
no ruby slippers this time—
tap heels, keep driving.

Love’s

Love’s gas stations boast
small dog parks behind the pumps.
We stop at them all.

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