At first, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. But mother has seen it too. She points to a gaunt man standing beneath a downspout next to an old Mom and Pop motel with a half-collapsed roof and weathered vacancy sign. He’s dressed in flimsy trousers and a cotton shirt. Melting snow pours out in a waterfall that cascades over his head, his torso, his arms, his spindly legs. He scrubs himself with gloved hands . . . .
on this road I travel
without you . . .
I try to imagine
my place in the world
I am so honored to be a part of the inaugural issue of A Hundred Gourds–a wonderful collection of haiku, haibun, and haiga spearheaded by Lorin Ford. I’m excited to have my work included among so many friends and fellow poets, and I’m particularly grateful to Editor Ray Rasmussen for helping to shepherd my first tanka prose from birth to publication.