Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Tanka Sequence


                                                               TIME PASSING    

                                                                   longer nights
                                                                   he slips into his last sleep
                                                                   quietly
                                                                   the release he waited for
                                                                   is not his alone

                                                                   Dutch homestead
                                                                   a rusted water pump
                                                                   the handle half-way;
                                                                   so many stories forgotten
                                                                   so many never finished

                                                                    double-Dutch jump rope
                                                                    the sureness and speed
                                                                    of the girls’ steps;                                                             
                                                                    how unalike I am
                                                                    with my hesitant moves

                                                                     sometimes I see you
                                                                     when you are young with dark hair
                                                                     moving easily
                                                                     your shoulders straight, your face smooth
                                                                     before I know of time passing

                                                                      I saw you last night
                                                                      felt your presence
                                                                      heard your voice
                                                                      and know you will come again
                                                                      when I least expect it
Ribbons, March 2013


Thursday, March 9, 2017

Haibun

 

  BLOOD ORANGES
 
A rarity, blood oranges at the market.  I buy several and remember her delight when she found them again decades after leaving her home in the Sicilian hills.  The mottled red orange skin, the reddish flesh, juicy and sweet.
 
I add goat cheese to my cart and remember her stories about buying cheese and milk from the goat boy every morning.
 
I remember her dark eyes and warm smile and her deft way with a cooking spoon.
 
I arrange the red orange segments, spiraling them on a plate, toss a few cubes of goat cheese here and there, squeeze on some of the red juice, sprinkle with olive oil, salt and a generous shake of freshly ground black pepper.
 
                                                                  lunch under the pines
                                                                  the breeze stirs up a fragrance
                                                                  from afar
Contemporary Haibun Online
June 2009