New haibun by Anne Brooke

A journey with my father You walk in shades of brown and metal. My tiny hand in yours is lost. A leaf consumed by the tree, I laugh and jump imaginary puddles. My yellow boots mark time on the ground and you smile. autumn sifts your bloodsugar and spice and...

New haibun

Do they still sit and dream on the Parkinson Steps?Past the late night Warsaw Stores at the end of the road, across the street from the Sikh temple by the traffic lights. Did the sign in that cafe really say Only one fork per plate ? Later, sitting around the kitchen...