Announcement: March issue of Haibun Today

The March 2017 issue of Haibun Today has been released—my first time as editor of the tanka prose section. Enjoy!

INFJ

INFJ,

four letters that ID me ...

Myers and Briggs,

bet you didn't know

I'd paste them on my forehead

—Ribbons, Tanka Cafe (theme: "Self-identity"), fall 2016

I'm kind of borderline in the last two test categories (not the first).

Papers, cards, letters

papers, cards, letters 
crammed in every cranny 
of their house … 
I unearth a clipping, 
How to bust a litterer 

—Frameless Sky, issue 5, fall 2016

I took possession of that clipping. And if my desk weren't so cluttered, I might be able to find it.

I say goodbye

I say goodbye

to her camellia bush—

its bounty

of new pink blossoms

as if nothing has happened

—Frameless Sky, issue 4, June 2016

The blueness

the blueness

at this altitude—

before takeoff

I read my horoscope,

your head might be in the clouds …

—Frameless Sky, issue 5, fall 2016

Bold new signs

bold new signs
at the nursing home
about guns—
I look for glimmers of life
behind the glass doors

—Ripples in the Sand, 2016 Tanka Society of America Members' Anthology

Long kidskin gloves

long kidskin gloves

she wore in the 60s—

on my bare arm

is this just a freckle

or another age spot?

—Moonbathing, fall 2016

Tanka Prose

Welcome

We knew it could happen at any time…. But the manicured evergreens, that stately magnolia tree, no stray leaf or seedpod, said otherwise. As did the covered porch that sheltered us, its graceful rocking chairs always occupied on best-weather days. And the soft whoosh-click of the automatic glass doors. Then once inside, greetings and smiles, swirls of life in the aquarium down the hall, sunlight squeezing between the slats of venetian blinds.

We knew it could happen at any time…. But Christmas came as usual, though this was the year we thought it might not. And each day, comfort-food aromas arising from the kitchen, a subtle soap scent from the laundry. Cheerful floral carpeting that muffled the brisk steps of workers and visitors. The nameplate affixed on the wall by her door. 

We knew it could happen at any time....

without fanfare

residents disappear

from the home

when their time is up—

rooms tidied and swept clean

—Ribbons, Fall 2016