Wind Haibun
January 6th, 2009 § Leave a Comment
Originally appeared in The Panhandler.
WIND HAIBUN
She’s at it again. The stalking. Waiting till you and sleep are about to reconcile that on-again-off-again love. She sweeps scythe feet through the grass out back, tramples flowerbeds, reckless heels kicking wildly. Knocks clapboard with flutters of taut knuckles, flicks the plastic flap on the drier vent near the door. She’s even shaking the apple tree near the window, yelling profanities through the stutter of leaves. It’s her; you know that accent, blasts of edged language knifing air.
under covers
skin on skin
___slit eye moon
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