cowlick

Everyday poetry

Four years ago, if you had told me I would become a haiku poet, I would have mentally rolled my eyes. Back then I never read poetry, much less wrote it. The long, obscure poems I came across in the pages of the New Yorker seemed like far too much work to decipher, so I would skip them (to be honest, I still do). As for haiku, I was vaguely familiar with the form, but had not written one since elementary school (something about a deer in the woods, or was that my cinquain?).