Haiku and Poems and by Joanna Wiggin
“Animal-Lover Child: a haiku”
By Joanna Wiggin
Cold bowl of lamb stew
Tears falling on still waters
Shattering the heart
“Give Her Flight”
By Joanna Wiggin
flapping against cage
her feathers fall to
the ground below her.
where’s the key?
the key to her cage.
there is no key
to her cage,
only hand.
where is hand, then?
eating.
eating while she flaps.
while her feathers fall.
open the cage.
she does not deserve the cage.
her mind is flapping.
her wings are flapping.
flight, flight, flight.
there is no fight.
there is only cage.
only mind.
only flapping.
her mind rages flight.
her wings rage harder.
her feathers are falling.
you!
open the unlocked cage.
give her flight.
“A Little Girl on Her Grandfather’s Farm”
By Joanna Wiggin
A little girl,
in front of her
grandfather’s white
barn, hears the cow’s
bellow.
She hears the rattle
of the trailer
pulling away.
Through the metal
slats now
going up the
long driveway,
she sees
the small brown
and white spots,
she sees the
eyes turned
toward the white
barn.
She runs toward it.
She wants to open
the door and let
the calf out. But
she is only a
little girl on her
grandfather’s farm.
She has no
voice.
She has no
rights.
She can only
comply.
She knows this.
But still she hears
the mother’s cry.
Bellow after
bellow.
She is a little girl,
her heart cannot
hold a mother’s
grief.
Through the metal slates
of the rattling
fence, she
sees the
brown and white spots.
She sees the eyes
turned toward
the cloud of dust
going up the drive.
She runs toward it.
She wants to open
the door and let
the mother out. But
she is only a
little girl on her
grandfather’s farm.
Bellow after bellow.
There is nothing
she can do.
She is only
a little girl on her
grandfather’s farm.
But
she knows what
is right. She
knows love.
She knows her
own mother’s
love.
She knows that
this mama
loves her
baby and their
love should
not
be taken
away.
She stands in front
of her grandfather’s
white barn and
looks into
the eyes of
the brown
cow.
Aching to
give her back
what
she yearns for.
But she can’t.
And she knows this.
She stretches out
her hand and touches
the brown and white
spotted head and
promises to do
something
someday
when she
is no longer
a little girl
that can only comply.
And now she is old
but she hasn’t
forgotten the
mother’s eyes
or her
bellows. She
picks up her
pen and
spills out
onto the pages
her heart holding
a mother’s
grief.
Hearing
bellow after
bellow. She
knows this
is right. She
knows love.
She knows her own
child’s love. She
has a voice now.
She is no
longer a
little girl
on her
grandfather’s farm.
“I Have the Power To:”
By Joanna Wiggin
I have the power to:
take you from your mother because:
you do not speak:
and you cannot hurt me and because:
you have no power over me:
I have the power to:
separate you from the only one that could protect you:
you can grieve but:
it doesn’t matter because:
you don’t matter except:
to be useful to me because:
you are not human:
you don’t need your mother and:
your mourning isn’t real like:
my mourning and:
your cries for your mother and:
her cries for you aren’t really cries:
I know because:
I am human and:
I have power.
“Honk”
By Joanna Wiggin
I’m sure the hen
is glad to know
she and her
body
are working
around the
clock
producing
for you
unfertilized eggs
to color
and place
in baskets of
plastic grass
and marshmallow bunnies
to be hid
then
thrown away.
Yes, that is exactly why she and
her
body are
forever
working
overtime.
Just as you would be glad
to know your eggs are being harvested
for a circus clown
to juggle,
drop,
and honk his nose over.
- Joanna Wiggin. Observer. Nature lover. Passionate about injustice, inequality and inhumane treatment of any living thing. Because of this, I write. For these, I write. This is how I change my world. I hold no titles. Have known no fame. I am simply a beauty-loving writer who fights for beauty with words.
By Joanna Wiggin
Cold bowl of lamb stew
Tears falling on still waters
Shattering the heart
“Give Her Flight”
By Joanna Wiggin
flapping against cage
her feathers fall to
the ground below her.
where’s the key?
the key to her cage.
there is no key
to her cage,
only hand.
where is hand, then?
eating.
eating while she flaps.
while her feathers fall.
open the cage.
she does not deserve the cage.
her mind is flapping.
her wings are flapping.
flight, flight, flight.
there is no fight.
there is only cage.
only mind.
only flapping.
her mind rages flight.
her wings rage harder.
her feathers are falling.
you!
open the unlocked cage.
give her flight.
“A Little Girl on Her Grandfather’s Farm”
By Joanna Wiggin
A little girl,
in front of her
grandfather’s white
barn, hears the cow’s
bellow.
She hears the rattle
of the trailer
pulling away.
Through the metal
slats now
going up the
long driveway,
she sees
the small brown
and white spots,
she sees the
eyes turned
toward the white
barn.
She runs toward it.
She wants to open
the door and let
the calf out. But
she is only a
little girl on her
grandfather’s farm.
She has no
voice.
She has no
rights.
She can only
comply.
She knows this.
But still she hears
the mother’s cry.
Bellow after
bellow.
She is a little girl,
her heart cannot
hold a mother’s
grief.
Through the metal slates
of the rattling
fence, she
sees the
brown and white spots.
She sees the eyes
turned toward
the cloud of dust
going up the drive.
She runs toward it.
She wants to open
the door and let
the mother out. But
she is only a
little girl on her
grandfather’s farm.
Bellow after bellow.
There is nothing
she can do.
She is only
a little girl on her
grandfather’s farm.
But
she knows what
is right. She
knows love.
She knows her
own mother’s
love.
She knows that
this mama
loves her
baby and their
love should
not
be taken
away.
She stands in front
of her grandfather’s
white barn and
looks into
the eyes of
the brown
cow.
Aching to
give her back
what
she yearns for.
But she can’t.
And she knows this.
She stretches out
her hand and touches
the brown and white
spotted head and
promises to do
something
someday
when she
is no longer
a little girl
that can only comply.
And now she is old
but she hasn’t
forgotten the
mother’s eyes
or her
bellows. She
picks up her
pen and
spills out
onto the pages
her heart holding
a mother’s
grief.
Hearing
bellow after
bellow. She
knows this
is right. She
knows love.
She knows her own
child’s love. She
has a voice now.
She is no
longer a
little girl
on her
grandfather’s farm.
“I Have the Power To:”
By Joanna Wiggin
I have the power to:
take you from your mother because:
you do not speak:
and you cannot hurt me and because:
you have no power over me:
I have the power to:
separate you from the only one that could protect you:
you can grieve but:
it doesn’t matter because:
you don’t matter except:
to be useful to me because:
you are not human:
you don’t need your mother and:
your mourning isn’t real like:
my mourning and:
your cries for your mother and:
her cries for you aren’t really cries:
I know because:
I am human and:
I have power.
“Honk”
By Joanna Wiggin
I’m sure the hen
is glad to know
she and her
body
are working
around the
clock
producing
for you
unfertilized eggs
to color
and place
in baskets of
plastic grass
and marshmallow bunnies
to be hid
then
thrown away.
Yes, that is exactly why she and
her
body are
forever
working
overtime.
Just as you would be glad
to know your eggs are being harvested
for a circus clown
to juggle,
drop,
and honk his nose over.
- Joanna Wiggin. Observer. Nature lover. Passionate about injustice, inequality and inhumane treatment of any living thing. Because of this, I write. For these, I write. This is how I change my world. I hold no titles. Have known no fame. I am simply a beauty-loving writer who fights for beauty with words.
Copyright©2021 by Joanna Wiggin. All Rights Reserved.