A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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March 2007, vol 3 no 1

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Laryalee Fraser


The Hospice tree in the mall is decorated with paper angels. I walk toward it, planning to add his name and share again in this annual celebration of life. But a sudden heaviness overtakes me. I blink, and turn away. Numbly, I move through the mass of shoppers and brightly colored lights until I reach the exit doors.

night wind–
the cold
becomes me

Back in my small apartment, I run my fingers over our wedding photo . . . almost seven years since I touched his face that last time. I make a cup of chamomile tea and go out to the balcony. Memories churning, I gaze at the stars, pulling his old sweater around me.

rose petals
between stones . . .
the weight of grey