“Damocles” by Jennifer Wholey

A haibun   Brush firmly tangled into a deep nest of my hair, I learned about the sword of Damocles from my father one perfect Hawaiian evening. The sun was a picturesque blur of color bleeding on the horizon; I knew the brush must stay in my hair until it set, or I would surely die. I feared the knives asleep in the kitchen island, the balcony of the bedroom loft, my mother’s too-reassuring smile. I needn’t be afraid, my father said, of a sword hanging over my head by a horse’s hair, lest I waste away wondering when it … Continue reading “Damocles” by Jennifer Wholey

“Burn” and “Salt Water Haibun” by Courtney LeBlanc

BURN I sit in front of the fire, the wood so dry it pops, embers rain out, a small burn marks the rug, evidence of the offense. When I met him the spark glowed hot. How quickly I reacted, knowing to let it smolder could mean a home in flames. I don’t always do this, extinguish the fires that burn low, snuff out the desires before they can rage, burning everything to the ground. By the end of winter the rug is filled with tiny black holes, embers leaving their mark, a reverse constellation. By the end of winter I … Continue reading “Burn” and “Salt Water Haibun” by Courtney LeBlanc