Meandering
Haibun The bike path moves. No, we do, walking it. Far enough from Lake Champlain, we still see the rippling wake catch the afternoon sun, whether moving or sitting. We keep our own pace...
Category: Haibun
Spring Deferred
Haibun It’s usually warmer here. Mira has spent many happy moments seated at this bench, soaking in the sun. Late afternoon shadows fall. A breeze rustles the endless dried oak and maple leaves still...
That Morning Reluctance
Haibun Didn’t want to rise. Turned off the clock and rolled over. A half-sleep doze and I’m up. Don’t want to go; drag my body and mind and stay at the table watching dawn...
Old World Market
Haibun An aroma of sharp cheddar and freshly baked bread. Wood rafters and paneling rise to a slanted ceiling. A Buddha on one wall, and other cultural icons spread around. We make our way past a...
At a Nyack Pastier
Haibun Didiere and Dumas, Nyack, New York : The black frosting of the dark chocolate mousse pastry catches the light through the display case. “Do you want the mousse or the raspberry tart?” I...
Empty Gestures
Haibun Nothing left to offer but the rain sunset on the Ramapo Mountains not a drop falls more by FRANK J. TASSONE photograph by Frances Gunn The Writers Manifesto
Mom, Incapacitated
Haibun Mom lies on her side. Her once immaculate hair now spreads across her pillow. She doesn’t know how she is. Only that she hasn’t been out of bed more than a half an...
Making Pizza Again
Haibun The aroma of sautéed onions reaches the living room. My eyes fill with tears. She clears the onions, adds the freshly rolled baking dough to the pan. Enraptured by the scent, I fully...
A Lapse In Judgment
Haibun He tells me he needs to move his car. I tell him I can’t be party to that. He asks Sandra H. I tell her he asked and I refused. “You got me...
A Glacial Stroll
Haibun Lake Hessian has frozen over. Two men pull a sled that holds a generator halfway across it. A couple of families walk and slide near shore. “Come on, Dad!” Frankie has already stepped...
Deliverance In The Dark
Haibun Cotton sheets cling to my skin like a burial shroud. Memories of Mom arise. Her pain-soaked blue eyes, looking out from a frustration-worn face, pulsing oxygen through nasal tubes insufficient for her to...
