Haibun
Edited by Pravat Kumar Padhy
- Details
- Written by: Andrea Eldridge
Reflections, on the past year, on the next year, in the window. I’m peering out onto the deck and beyond, at the unexpected light showdown over the mountain. In the bottom left windowpane is framed the reflection of our fire burning on the hearth. This past year of misplaced loyalties and loss is up in smoke. The middle panes hold two branches mirroring one another each with snow still clinging. In front of them, identical watchdogs stand guard at the sill. In the top two panes, new year’s rockets streak and flash. For the finale, a fireworks burst of blooms—pink, green, and white cosmic chrysanthemums. At this moment, the promise of a new year.
scribbled across
a blank slate sky—
your message
- Details
- Written by: Stephen Toft
sitting in the square with a takeaway coffee and a satchel full of detective books, i’m on the only bench that the morning sun has reached. the street drinkers and drug addicts have started doing what they do - or maybe they never stopped. i recognise one of them from the homeless project, and he greets me with an unexpected warmth by offering a swig of his vodka.
dirty river -
a pair of angel wings
floats by
- Details
- Written by: John Zheng
You are a rice seedling I have grown in the paddy of my heart, a rope bridge I sway between city and country, a seesaw I use to keep ups and downs like the motion of sun and moon. Tell me when you want to smell the scent of new rice, and I will bring you a whole bag of it grown with my muddy hands. Let’s promise to meet on that wooden bridge when we see each other again. Trust me, our yin yang will spin forever like the earth under our feet.
caged days
a strong wish to hear
a magpie
- Details
- Written by: Florin Golban
I was trying to guess the slabs of the platform. There were tufts of grass covered in mist on the edges. The station was barely out of the fog. Silhouettes ran back and forth.
Some for tickets, some for cigarettes and pretzels.
I felt like a stowaway among the commuters at seven in the morning. I got on the train, stomping down the aisle, and lit a cigarette, drawing on the steamy train window.
cloudy sky -
the cock crows
the same song
- Details
- Written by: Dru Philippou
My father sits alone on the living room couch, watching TV with a bottle of whiskey at his side. His Player’s cigarette packet bears the image of a bearded, blue-eyed sailor with Hero, the name of his ship, written on his cap band. He’s framed inside a lifebelt, with three ironclad warships, a lighthouse, and a yellow-orange sunrise in the background. A white swan drifts forever on the emerald waters on Father’s vesta matchbox. I smooth out the creases in his ruckled newspaper and hand it to him. When in a good mood, he lets me take a sip of whiskey. Unable to put a name to my face, he stares at me with bloodshot eyes.
blackout
a candle holds
the light
- Details
- Written by: Diana Webb
The ridgeline perfectly delineated between the blue which fills the frame between the red brick walls and the awning's shifting edge. Not a hint from this distance of the petals that hide in the leaves which the ramblers will miss in their purposeful march beyond.
beneath the surface
daffodil stems
the level of water