Beach Memories

For Kerry’s Prompt at Toads,Human Landscape Interactions.  The happened two weeks before my mother died last June.  She loved her beach!  We went down to Emerald Isle about eight times a year.

Beach Memories
I hold the bowl of cut strawberries for you.
Did we pick these? You ask.
I murmur, no mama, I bought these at the market.
You seem to sleep and then rouse.
remember that time at the beach…
your voice peters out and you sleep for real this time.
I remember so many times at the beach –
the sand dollars swirling in the waves
looking like alien space ships,
the walks at sunrise and sunset,
the times we looked for shells,
bologna sandwiches and warm cokes
for lunch on the beach,
laughing at a dog playing in the surf,
jumping waves,
digging a space in the shade of the dunes
and taking a nap with the sound
of sea birds and waves lulling us to sleep.
I wonder what you are dreaming of
while you sleep.
do you dream of those times?

Emerald Isle NC

Haibun: Gifts

a haibun is a Japanese form based on prose and poetry. It is a true accounting of an event in your life. This one is brief in the manner of Basho, the “inventor” of haibun. It is closed with a seasonal haiku. This haibun is less than 100 words.  Haibun are not fiction.

Haibun: Gifts

“Breath is the finest gift of nature. Be grateful for this wonderful gift.” Amit Ray

Years ago, my mother gave me the gift of life – she gave birth to me. All through my life, she gifted me with self-discipline, toys, love, hugs, appreciation of me – she taught me to be grateful for all gifts and when possible, to share gifts with others. Every day she gave me gifts – even when she was lying non-verbal in a bed, dying slowly with Alzheimer’s. One day she died. She gave me the gift of grief and pain. On a beautiful day in June, she ceased to breathe.
June sunshine –
flowers blooming outside –
my mother dying inside

my mother on her deck

 

Haibun: The Balloon

For Merrill’s prompt at dVerse – a quadrille.  A quadrille is a poem in any form with exactly 44 words using the prompted word, sans title.  The word today is “rise”.  A haibun in the manner of Basho.

 

Haibun: The Balloon
“Perhaps wisdom… is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.” Anthony Bourdain

The day I buried my mother’s ashes was a hot summer day. I untied the balloon from my wrist and let it go. I watched it rise quickly to the sky.
balloon rises to heaven
and clears the trees –
my heart goes with it

Haibun: Summer Tomatoes

A haibun of exactly 75 words in the manner of Basho for my prompt at Real Toads, Day 15 of NAPOWRIMO. A haibun is a Japanese poetic form consisting of a true autobiographical part and ended with a seasonal haiku.

 

Haibun: Summer Tomatoes
“It’s difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.” Lewis Grizzard

It was the middle of July; mama had died mid-June. She is the one who taught me all of my gardening and canning skills. The tomatoes hung thick from the vines. To encourage more blooms, I buried the fertilizer spike.
soft like my mama’s cheek
I held the tomato to my face –
watered it with my tears

Seasons Change

This is for gues prompter, Merrill who asks us to write a haibun on transitions. Haibun are factual accountings usually of one to three brief paragraphs ended with a seasonal haiku.

Seasons Change
Winter changed to spring and spring changed to early summer. The sun was mild and roses were blooming everywhere. You had changed from happy and verbal to non-verbal and sad. I watched you changing before my eyes. I would wheel you around the skilled nursing facility, taking you to activities and into the dining room. You enjoyed your table mates and the musical activities. You liked going out into the garden and having your hair done. You had a stroke and then another and another. You became non-verbal and bed ridden. The last two weeks of your life, I sat by your bedside for hours reading your favorite verses from the Bible and singing hymns to you. Suddnely one day you said to me, “Mama is here. So is your father.” The next day your father joined them along with your beloved Grandmother. I knew the end was not far away. I left you that day after praying with you and telling you I loved you. The look in your eyes was sad as you watched me leave the room. The next morning, your nurse called me to let you know you had died. I went from beloved daughter to orphan.
blue sky of autumn –
the earth moves to silence –
leaves drift like the clouds

copyright kanzensakura

 

the Bowl

The Bowl
I was going to drink a glass of milk for dinner but
then I remembered Heidi,
drinking milk from a bowl.
I pulled down my favorite bowl –
A small yellow bowl that looked like a beehive
when it was turned upside down, with a small crack at the top.
It was my grandmother’s bowl when she was small.
I poured the milk into the bowl
noting the contrast between the white of the milk
and the creamy crackled glaze of the bowl.
I drank deeply.
I drank until the bowl was empty.
I rinsed it out and put it on the drying mat.
I thought about my mother always wanting that bowl
for her grits and butter
with the over light egg in the center,
salt and pepper sprinkled on the egg.
I dried it and reverently placed it back on the shelf.
I wonder who will get this bowl when I die.
I wonder if they will love it as much as I.

Painted in Tones of Argent

For the weekly 55.  When I wrote this, my mother was dying. She has since died.

Painted in Tones of Argent
My backyard sleeps under
the full moon like a drowned Atlantis.
I sit on my back steps inhaling
the scents of honeysuckle and
a whiff of pot from my neighbors’-
A faint scent of petrichor:
the storm breaks
weeping on the trees.
My mother is dying.

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