A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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June 2009, vol 5 no 2

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Billie Dee



The back trellis is covered with hot pink bloom and the neighbor’s tabby has nested in the garden shed. I’m listening to the hammer of water pipes, a hollow ring filling the galvanized tub, when my grandfather backs in through the screen door. His tall rubber boots leave tracks on the laundry linoleum. There’s the smell of a gunnysack, and another smell I can’t identify – something bitter, something wet.

cherry popsicle
the ice-cream man shorts
my change

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