New Year’s drink
our yellow streams cross
each other’s
“Son, now you’re a man,” Father says coldly. Something strange…something I can’t articulate in his eyes. A gaze I will carry with me always.
the moon floats
from one glass
to another…
our yellow streams cross
each other’s
“Son, now you’re a man,” Father says coldly. Something strange…something I can’t articulate in his eyes. A gaze I will carry with me always.
the moon floats
from one glass
to another…
Haibun Winner, 2012 Great Big Little Poems Contest
Reprinted in Contemporary Haibun Online, 8:3, October 2012
