A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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June 2007, vol 3 no 2

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Andrea Miller


My dad and I find sun-bleached chicken bones by a lake. These were from a dinosaur, he says, rolling the wing between his thumb and finger. Then he puts it back, under a tuft of grass.

Really, I say—eight years old and very gullible. Shouldn't we take them with us?

Oh no, he says. We thought it was pretty great finding these old bones, didn't we? Let's give someone else a chance to find them too.

salted leach
slips off
into the water