| Current Issue | About CHO | Editorial Staff & Guidelines | Submissions | Articles | Archives | Search |
April 2018, vol 14 no 1

| Contents This Issue | Next Haibun |

Marilyn Fleming

Sepia Photo

We were more than sisters, more than best friends, almost twins, weren’t we? Do you remember how we intuitively knew what was going on in the other’s head; the way we would crack-up laughing about something, and both of us would stop mid-laugh at exactly the same time?

The other day I was thinking about our hand-clapping games. How we would start out singing “I am a pretty little dutch girl” and clapping each other’s hands, crossing over, first the right hand, then the left, patting our legs and keeping at it repeating the song over and over, the clapping over and over, and at each song repetition picking up speed until it was almost a blur. Do you still remember how to do it? I think I do. I remember all the lyrics, especially “My boyfriend’s name is Mello. He came from the land of Jello." I think I remember all the hand-claps or at least together we would pick it up fast. What I forgot you will remember. Sisters are like that.

playing cat’s cradle
in the pine grove
threading needles
of morning dew