Sharon D. Cohagan
At Dusk
Through my bedroom window, I can hear them tap dancing. Tap, tap, the metal clacking a mocking taunt. We’re outside, you’re not.
My friends are practising on the driveway for their show. I always have to go there, although they have never been to any of my ballet recitals. It’s so unfair. Just like me, already in bed. It’s not even dark yet! Birds are still singing and squirrels are running along the eaves. Probably the grey pair I saw yesterday.
My parents say I need the extra sleep to keep up with my growing spurts. But I’m not sleepy. I busy myself with making shadow figures.
dancing fingers
elephant and rabbit
lope across the wall
keeping me company
before they take a bow
About the Author
Sharon D. Cohagan lives in Germany. She published two poetry chapbooks in 2006 in California. Since 2019 her focus has been on Japanese poetry. Her work has appeared in contemporary haibun online, The Haibun Journal, Drifting Sands Haibun, Under the Basho, cattails, and Autumn Moon Haiku.