Gerry Jacobson

The Taxi Pulls Out from the Kerb

huddling together
we pass around
the loving cup

There’s a knock on the door. It’s the taxi driver. I drag my rucksack out onto the pavement.  We hug. “Look after yourself!” I say. She nods, wordless. I turn my face to the forward journey. Going home again, across the world.  Home? That magic weekend, did it really happen? Circle of belonging around a campfire. The country walk. The songs and laughter. My friends.  Later, exchanging emails, I ask: “Was it a dream?” She says: “No! For me it’s that parallel world where we co-exist, and without it I’d be very lonely.”

sunrise
touch of frost
ache of spring

---

About the Author

Gerry Jacobson lives in Canberra, Australia, and can be found writing tanka in its cafés. He was a geologist in a past life and now celebrates reincarnation as a dancer.

---