November 27, 2016

Donor

She pokes the needle in my arm.  My blood fills one vial, and then a second.  "I feel faint", I tell her as everything goes black.

moon walk
the weightlessness
of shade


the other bunny, 2016

November 20, 2016

Back Door

My parents' street has squirrels, but not so many children.  There used to be lots of children.  I remember.  I might have been one of them.

alley cat
the route to school
nobody knew


Failed Haiku, Issue 6

November 11, 2016

Drought

I crease the page, fold its shadow inside.  Peeling it back, the light returns again.  Open and close, open and close.  The one thing I don't see is a poem.

I spit on the rocks
where the creek ran
summer


Haibun Today, June 2016

November 05, 2016

Huntsmen

During recess, a colony of gulls circled over the schoolyard.  We chased the birds, armed with stones, trying to be first to knock one from the sky.  One by one, the stones, and our interest, fell.  We moved on to other games.

grocery list
our hunt for dinner
in the freezer aisle


Contemporary Haibun Online, Spring 2016