Bathed in winter sunlight, Father sits on the front porch stairs. A wooden cane between his knees, hand over hand, resting on the handle.
white streaks
in my hair and beard
first homecoming
I ask Father, "How have you been these years?" I immediately regret my stupid question. Without answering, Father looks deep into my eyes ... a smile emerges at the corners of his mouth.
Contemporary Haibun Online, 13:2, July 2017
