haibun

| Current Issue | About CHO | Editorial Staff & Guidelines | Submissions | Articles | Archives | Search |
January 2019, vol 14 no 4

| Contents This Issue | Next |



Tom Painting

Red-handed

When we first moved in together we fumbled our way through the prelims of love, while the rhythmic bouncing from the bedroom above told a different story. I’m not sure we ever figured it out, guarded as we were, like today some 50 years later on a chance encounter, stumbling over our words.

a fur of mold
on the raspberries
lingering heat


logo