A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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March 2006, vol 2 no 1

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Bruce Ross


As a child my mother bought me canned Bluebird orange juice. I was endlessly fascinated with the glossy painting of bluebirds on the paper surrounding the can: a bright tableau of a cut-away house with an extended happy bluebird family at various activities in different rooms. The blue and orange of the birds had the shiny smooth quality of cartoon characters. The juice itself had a unique flavor, even, in retrospect, a little tart. With time the juice disappeared from the shelves as did the supermarket we shopped in. With further time my childhood home was sold long after I had left it. Shopping in a rural market for a cottage stay along the Gulfside of Florida I reached for the only canned juice available.

only the name
on the simple label
winter clouds


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