Pebble

First day of the month—

I place a small white pebble

on my father’s grave.

First

the year’s first haiku

in a tiny florid script

on cream-white paper

First day of the month—

a sparrow haunts the feeder,

hoping for some lunch.

First chore of the year—

the Mexican gardener

readjusts his hat.

The year’s first coffee,

poured into a paper cup,

soon loses its steam.

looking with longing

toward the first day of autumn—

melon harvesters

first days of the year—

still harvesting fat carrots

from the backyard plot

first moon of the year—

reading from the almanac

about planting peas

first moon of the year

fat and white in its rising

over the duck pond

first week of the year—

fluffing my goose-down pillow

for a midday nap