Harriot West
Afterwards
when she couldn’t stop crying, she was sent away to “rest”—leaving me un-coddled, alone with a porcelain doll whose eyes never shut and whose mouth never smiled. Years later I learned about electroshock therapy.
moon shadows where I scattered mother’s ashes
About the Author
Harriot West lives in Eugene, Oregon, and rarely manages to write a prose poem that feels complete without adding at least one haiku.
Harriot,
Just stopping by to let you know I’ve long admired your writing. It never fails to touch me.
Hi Harriot, I see that your writing is getting some well deserved comments from readers. I know that you insist that that fiction and/or embellishment of truth pieces are okay in haibun, Just to say that you’ve convinced me. This is marvellously touching, even if fictional. Cheers, Ray
I agree with Harriot. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction and sometimes fiction can seem more “real” than truth.