Immigrants

Immigrant women,

chirping like wayward sparrows,

look for a new home.

Sheets

pinning the laundry

on a windy afternoon—

one sheet snaps, then two

lighting my way home—

the same flickering lantern

that my dad once held

Tattered sunflower,

where is the white butterfly

you fed yesterday?

he and his mistress

sipping from the same tea bowl—

first day of autumn

on the cabin roof

rainfall just before nightfall—

sleeping well tonight

First days of autumn—

pilgrims leave their worn-out shoes

at the wayside shrine.

first days of autumn—

leaves from the neighbor’s maple

littering my lawn

first day of autumn—

black widow weaves her new web

in a castoff shoe

Tapping with a stick,

the blind woman makes her way

through the garden gate.