Ray Rasmussen

No One Home

The mail brings a Father’s Day card from my sister. There’s nothing from my daughter who’s likely sleeping in the basement. I had never imagined living with a mature daughter much less with her boyfriend who recently slipped up and called me “dad.”

Most days, I won't see them at all. Sometimes, I'll hear footfalls or the sound of a door clicking shut or the creak of floorboards. Home has the feeling of someone disappearing just before I enter a room – a place of shadows. I can never tell if they are in or out, and, most important, whether they are still “using.”

They’re so invisible that I imagine one day receiving a phone call from my daughter wishing me a happy Father's Day.

"But why don't you just come up and give me a hug," I'll say.

"Dad, I moved out last month," she'll reply.

rain shower
too big to squeeze
between the drops

Published in The Unseen Wind: British Haiku Society Haibun Anthology 2009, Lynne Rees and Jo Pacsoo (Editors), British Haiku Society.