Marilyn Ashbaugh
Itch
The oxford cloth of her long-sleeved shirt sticks to her flesh. A rivulet flows from her forehead down the delicate bridge of her nose, gathers there until a bead of sweat drips from its tip. Pulling poison ivy from sycamores and ash, she lifts a gloved hand and reflexively wipes her face.
whistles in the dark
we slip out bedroom windows
for a midnight swim
About the Author
Marilyn Ashbaugh is a poet, nature photographer, and organic gardener. She is widely published in journals and anthologies featuring Japanese short-form poetry.
Beautiful!
Alan Summers
Dear Alan,
Thank you for reading and for your kind comment!
Very timely. These days we are reminded to keep our hands from our faces, but as this beautifully written haibun points out, it is easy to be undone by a reflexive act.
Dear Tom,
Thank you for reading and commenting. Now that I have a mask as well as gloves, perhaps I will avoid the ugly aftermath of poison ivy’s touch.
Being susceptible to the negative effects of this plant’s oils, I found myself cringing as she wiped her face! A good write, Marilyn.
Terri,
Thank you! I swear all I have to do is look at it and I start to itch!
Lovely!
Lakshmi,
Thank you!