A Portrait of Mars
The last minute tickets, the mad four hour drive, my car stalling in the middle of Chicago traffic, the wait in the rain, the new friends, the burning in my screaming lungs, the lull only days after, the jazz riff in my heart as I find a photo of him looking right through me.
churn the fog
Night in the Boonies
The clicking ceiling fan, the buzzing mosquito, the difference between wind and an animal passing through. I follow the explosions but never find the fireworks.
under the bridge
So focused on the dishes I forget to fill the dishwasher because I've scrubbed them all by hand.
Every night I try a few, each from a different bush along the roadside. They're blackening but still sour. My mouth seizes up preemptively now.
through the corn
All Roads Lead Back To Cherokee
The corn's as tall as I remember my father. All my childhood I dreamed of running away, following the telephone poles and Queen Anne's lace.
I release a toad
into the lilies
the summer after
These tiny haibun capture moments of the summer after completing my Master's degree. I took special care to embrace my surroundings with fresh eyes as I moved back to my home state of Illinois, USA. Aside from "A Portrait of Mars," each haibun's prose is 25 words or less. This was inspired by Hint Fiction: An Anthology of Stories in 25 Words or Fewer (W.W. Norton, 2010).
website: Yay Words