Mother’s Day Morning
Haibun Poems The aging yellow brush of her favorite broom swishes dust and seeds off of the salmon Trex deck. Mira’s Portuguese cascades high and low like a melody as she sweeps single-handed, the...
Author: Frank J. Tassone
A Rain Meditation
Haibun Poem Steady rainfall. The Pastore’s new generator hums. Across the street Stacy and Laurie talk. A sparrow perches on a maple tree, taking shelter under its leaves. Cool draft at my cheek....
Avian Duel
Haibun Poetry A blue jay soars downward like a falcon returning to an outstretched gauntlet. He swerves up at the last minute, perches on a branch of the maple overhanging the deck. Not...
Such a Moment
Haibun Poetry A breeze blows. The Syracuse wind chime behind the chaise sounds a three-note melody. A sparrow’s song answers. The neighbor behind my house hosts a party. Adults chat, children squeal and...
Our Post-Mortem
Haibun Poetry I sit on your beige sofa across from you in your living room. Mike — your husband, my fraternity brother— prepares the VHS tape. Of your wedding. There is a moment...
First Easter after Dad
Haibun Poetry Chocolate-centered pastries; strawberry shortcake; sliced pineapple, melon and cantaloupe: all on platters spread across the row of tables. A pitcher of homemade red wine sits near empty glasses. Mira and her...
First Agape
Haibun Poetry I turned over my rusty red tricycle in the mud room. Then I spun the wheels. And listened to their vroom. Feeling that presence that even now I can’t name. plop...
Naked Inattention
Haibun Poetry We change from gym in the boy’s bathroom — talking about something that grabs my undivided attention. We walk down the gray-brown granite hallway to our first-grade class. We step inside....
Adoption Mine
Haibun Mom told me the story. She and Dad had applied to adopt a child. Westchester Family Services had interviewed them. Social workers inspected their immaculate two-bedroom apartment. But lawyers, doctors, stockbrokers and executives...
Awaiting the Doctor
Haibun Poetry Conversations carry on outside the grain-laminate door. Papers rustle. A phone rings with a staccato four-beat tone in the key of “E”. Lights hum. I sit in the last examination room...
