A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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March 2008, vol 4 no 1

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Virginia Annette Jenkins



The opened letter now, a crumbled ball of paper, rocks gently to the  steady flow of air. My heater does its best to warm the room. I wonder how long its  warmth can last. My husband looks lost in the kitchen light. I jump from the sound of rattling  windows, taking hit after hit from bossy winds. It is dusk in the winter of Tokyo and not a job in sight.

Next door, a stone Buddha
Snowflakes and incense climb the air
Falling circles of white