With the Drought in the Back of My Mind

The form of this post is unintentionally similar to that of haibun, “brief prose pieces ending in one or two poems,” which I learned about from The Heart of Haiku, the Kindle Single by Jane Hirshfield, a long essay about Matsuo Bashō with righteous and plenteous examples of his haibun and haiku.  (I’m not a practitioner of either, but I enjoy reading them.) 

This morning I was the first at the bus stop, dawn just underway.  I waited and watched and listened to the rats running and squeaking through the shrubbery, and also the burly brown garbage trunk grunting and beeping and backing out an alleyway. I thought,“That’s why we have yesterdays.” And, to close, somewhat (five short poems instead of one or two) accidentally in haibun style: 

I TRIED

They just.

THE MAIN

 

The main.

Like, uh.

SHEILA

For sure.

Sheila.

AND WHAT SORT OF

How.

Yeah, no.

No.

Yeah. 

I SAID I WONDER IF

Maybe I’m.

Maybe I’m.

I KNOW 

I know.

I know.