Two Haiku by Tara Betts

Send him each one of the old Prince
records, spread them on the living room floor,
glide over him like a needle following grooves.

Lips half-pucker
surround a tiny bud,
a stud in his ear.


"It’s this life I want, this valley / between the hills and high places"


"Your friend has entered the tribe / of those who’ve buried their mothers"