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WHC Haibun - naia;
Marjorie Buettner |
An old black man is staring right at me! There's no way around it
- I have to walk past him. In 1969 we still call them Negroes, at
least I do, and I am a newlywed just moved here from a small town
where we don't have any. I fix my eyes on the sidewalk and keep
moving. He calls out, "What's the matter, girl, you afraid to
look at me?" How did he know? Thirty-two years later I'd like
to tell him, wherever he is, that I get it.
scented breeze--
removing the orange peel
section by section
The
Magician's Scarf
Mitten
lost, jewelry misplaced, toys disappear--the house vacuums up
objects never to be found again. And my children, oblivious
of what time wrought, are under its spell, their childhood lost
somewhere in the timbers, seeping, even now, into the floor
boards, vanishing, mid-air, under the Magician's scarf,
transformed into someone I hardly recognize, until later they
reappear in dream just as if nothing has changed in years.
my
youngest daughter
looking just like my oldest
migrating birds
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