Volume 38.1
Spring 2007


sample haibun


In the Night Kitchen

the boyfriend’s in her room and i can hear sounds coming from up there i don’t know if they are giggles or groans or what i just want him to leave want to hear those boots coming heavy down the stairs and i know she has been away two years which means she has done all sorts of things she hasn’t told me the same way i never told mother only different because now i know what mother knew and what all mothers come to know in time

above a cluster of stars
one star

by Roberta Beary


I’m starting to understand: the mother I grew up with isn’t there now—only the stranger who stands by the ringing phone and cannot remember what she is supposed to do with it.

clinging to the pine bough
but gone as well—
the cicada

by Roger Jones



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