Haibun Today

A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Editor
Volume 4, Number 2, June 2010

Mark Smith
Keyser, West Virginia, USA



Maybe years spent lodged on this river bank, the picked up piece of driftwood I fingered loose from rock and root, now hold in my hand looking, thinking on its purpose to be broken, buried alone. It’s like a skeleton that once held delicate buds, a relic of river still running on, a hollow chunk of what must not be forgotten suddenly yanked out of the damp into light. And it’s like my sister’s body pulled from the womb one morning still. But it’s not her I hold. It’s only shard, debris of once wild water that I cover over, let rest again in its casket of quiet earth.

lone cluster of stubble
casting shadows
on the snow




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