A Winter Day Remembrance
Haibun Dad’s grave is likely covered. I haven’t seen it since Rob, Mom and I last visited together. She had laid an evergreen wreath with some winter blossom, whose name I never knew. This...
Tagged: dad
Young Artist’s Patience
Haibun One knee on the grass. One foot on the grass. Frankie’s hands work the eraser over the page. Then he sets the ruler down and draws again. All his complaints about no AC...
An Early Present
Haibun We plant petunias at Dad’s grave. I hoe out holes in front of the headstone. Frankie places the plants in and covers their roots with dirt. We plant two rows — three to...
Piece of Nothing
Poem The world belongs to the living… Now you are far away from home, the home you never had, and as your presence turns to stone, I’ll never call you “dad”. Now you...
