A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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March 2009, vol 5 no 1

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Beverly Tift


Do you remember when we were eleven or twelve, you were the first one to shave your legs? Your mother yelled 'you are too young' so loud that I didn't do mine until I was thirteen.

summer sun
walking the waves
our voices

Forty-five years later, I lather my calves . . . then sluice water through winter's hirsute growth. That sighing sound is just the sea.

moonless night
the undertow chatters
stones, and shells

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