I asked Ray if his parents are coming to his show and he replied with a shrug. I wondered why he was unsure of their attendance and asked “Aren’t they excited to see your work?” He replied that they were never enthusiastic about his paintings. I thought of my parents and their enthusiasm about seeing my work. I asked him if their apathy bothered him, he said “I’m used to it”.

absent parents
I try
to fill the void

When I was in high school, we would have bonfires in cornfields on Saturday nights, a fun Iowan activity. Before I was dating my boyfriend, I remember watching him at the bonfires. It was always so cold, because it was October or November and we were out there. I could see the fire reflecting in his eyes, always wanting to inch closer to him. I would watch his eyes because they were so dark, and I watched to see if he would see me.

shivering cold
I move close to the fire
watching your eyes

It was my second day of working in a row, and looking forward to tomorrow being my last day wasn’t as promising as it had been. The hours dragged along; the store was slow; I was tired. The clock approached seven, and a certain, special customer came into the video store. He carried a dark plastic bag and urged me to follow him into the back room. He told me to close my eyes as he “set up.”

dingy break room—
dinner, roses, chocolate
and you

This weekend my best friend visited without notice. She placed her hands over my eyes and when I turned around I was struck with the feeling of a dream. We held each other close that night. We rose early and bought food for a picnic. Fried chicken and strawberries as well as some Cokes on top of a small blanket in the park. Oddly enough, there was an Ancient Games contest just down the way, and men adorning kilts were throwing logs and stones as far as they could. We took our cameras and were able to see the world as it should, in all its beauty.

through this viewfinder
the angles and tones
all too perfect

I've been traveling to Marathon, Florida, ever since I was three years old. I can't even begin to total the sheer number of times I have been there. Our first visit was (as I learned 15 years later) actually a plot by my mom and grandma to get my aunt Mary to come back home (she'd moved to Marathon with her current boyfriend). Our first trip was somewhat interesting - we were supposed to stay with Mary and her boyfriend (whose name was either Monty or Steve), but right before we left, they split up and Mary moved into an apartment too small to accommodate the three of us. We spent two nights at The Buccaneer, a somewhat rundown hotel that ultimately burned down, before going elsewhere. Needless to say, my mom and grandma were unsuccessful in their quest to bring Mary home, as she still lives there today and has now started a family. I know that I've never spent more than 8 days at a stretch in Marathon, but for some reason it always has and always will feel like home to me.

seven miles
across the bridge
the island I call home

Every summer of my childhood we have driven up to northern Michigan to visit the lake my great-grandfather purchased as a meeting place for his children, grand-children, and the generations to come. The lake, before it was dammed off, used to look like an anchor from an aerial view and so it is called Anchor Lake. As we turn off the main road through town onto a gravel road, my heart begins to pump and the excitement rises in my belly. The dust rises on either side of our small car packed tightly with our things. The gravel makes a crunching sound beneath the wheels that can be heard even above the music. On either side of the road, the trees begin to thicken. On the right is the Lubke’s house. Farther down the road we finally reach the mailbox and the painted sign my grandfather made warning against trespassing in red and black letters. After the slight curve the First Cabin appears on the left and then the New Cabin. Here is where we stop, as we have every summer, as the relatives start appearing through doors, collecting us from our car in a barrage of hugs and conversation.

my heart jumps—
the grind of gravel
beneath the tires.

another sharp moment most recent in my memory is one of the exact opposite of depression, but of pure unadulterated happiness, and it happens at the same time of day, that moment right as you wake up, what I find interesting about trying to attempt haibun is that these moments exist quite frequently but it is when you try haibun you realize the even exist. And these moments really have the ability to set the tone for the day or even the week. To see these moments and capture them is a skill which is not easily achieved. The moment again as I said begins opening my eyes and at first I dont know where I am and I feel alone. With the current situation in my life I have felt that a lot. But I have met someone and it is when I awoke to this person lying next to me I felt this total happiness. Not because there I was a beautiful girl lying next to me, but because I had forgotten she was there and how much she cares for me. This moment lasted again only an instant and I fell back asleep but I think it was this moment that let me fall back asleep and not sit up in my loneliness.

still dark as i awake
focusing my eyes
finding myself loved

My grandmother has had a hard life; however, the specifics are a gray area as she never speaks of the past in concrete terms. Sometimes she will mention it, usually in the form of a regret, and a cloud passes across her eyes. She is the type of person who finds it difficult to be content. She is always very eager when I come to visit. I am always greeted with a hard hug. Her bony frame is neither accommodating nor comforting. Her movements become tense and nervous and her conversation is usually punctuated with apologies. She never answers the phone while I am there. The goodbyes are awkward and there is sadness lurking behind her eyes as I turn my back to walk away.

thin hands
clasping and unclasping
the cup of tea

By eighth grade I had not slow-danced with a boy. School dances were a time to socialize with friends and sway to the music with big, giggling groups of girlfriends. However, in eighth grade, at the first dance of the school, Zach Boutwell approached me to dance with him. I don’t remember the song because it was not important. I remember how he smelled, very good and very grown up. I am confident I would be able to recognize the cologne today if I came across it. Although, looking back, he was probably wearing far too much. He placed his hands on my hips and I placed my hands on his shoulders. It was the most intimate thing I had done in my life up to that point and my belly was in a knot. We swayed back and forth to the music and, in that moment, I felt absolutely beautiful and special. As the song ended, we danced our way into a brief, awkward hug. I ran into the girl’s room immediately afterward to breathlessly tell all of my friends.

his father’s
suit jacket
the sleeves too long

When I went on the southwest trip with the Millikin Art Department, we stayed at a National Park in the desert on the border of Utah and Arizona. My campmates and I went on a night hike to the ruins on the edge of the canyon one night. I remember finding arrowheads that had not been picked up by archaeologists. We were the first ones to discover this little pile in the pitch black night. I sat on the edge of the canyon with the full moon overhead and listened to the silence of the land.

gentle breeze blows my hair
solitary moon highlights
the rough edges of the canyon

Jenny has always drawn very differently than most individuals. She breaks down images in order to create simple illustrations; her ducks are yellow, her houses flat. Like the great Dubuffet, her work can be described as childlike. Most people believe it to be unsophisticated, and thus perceive her as innocent. But, in truth, Jenny is like the eagle: soaring higher than most birds, she flies alone. I wish that I understood her better.

an eagle’s silhouette
against blue sky
here, she is alone

Loretta, my cousin and best friend, works hard to be the best. She’s the kind of girl who will get a 102% on a test and still complain that she should have done better. What makes Loretta great is the fact that although she is incredibly smart, she also is one of the most vibrant people I know. She works hard and plays even harder. She is now in her first year of college and has to learn how to adjust to the new life-style.

talking with friends
late into the night
midterm in the morning

In Hope Mills, North Carolina, a sense of relaxation filled me to the brim. Every morning last summer, I would rise before the sun and watch my boyfriend get ready for work. Always thinking I was asleep, he wouldn't turn on any lights...the only sounds were his electric razor and the crispness of his camouflage BDUs unfolding as he dressed. For nearly 4 years, the 82nd Airborne division of Fort Bragg was his entire life, and I was there to help him drive his life, packed into a single Uhaul, back to Illinois.  

unlacing his boots
the faint smell of kiwi shine ascends
      he winces in pain

Northern Ontario is the closest I have personally been to perfection. So pure are the waters that given the right circumstances one can see thirty feet straight down in Lake Sturgeon. Having been there various occasions, and seeing its beauty go unscathed despite years, I can attest that every time I have peered down the bay from the docks on a sunny day I can see rocks and healthy fish enjoying their lives in the clearest of waters. People respect this purity, and it is for this reason it is not compromised. This respect is deep and rarely spoken of, but the rewards are the most precious sites anyone might comprehend on this earth. Large blue-gray rocks jut out of the lake, almost at ninety degrees, some shallower angles; all with large patches of lush green moss. To look into the sky on a clear night is to witness all the stars, with clear vision, as if ones own eyes were cleared of dust, and were allowed to truly see for the first time.

clearest Ontario night
single red star
amidst a sea of brilliant black and white

There is an elderly woman, named Leah, who is the sweetest old woman one could ever meet. She can tell you some of the greatest stories, and she will talk to you for hours. Sometimes, she may tell a story or two more then once, but every time it just gets better. Some of these stories are so amazing and it is hard to understand how such a small little lady could go through so much, but then if you look into her eyes you can see. Her eyes are not only filled with experiences but also with undying love. In her stories, if you listen, you can even feel the love that she gives everyone, even if they didn’t give love to her in return. She likes to spread her love to everyone she knows, even to you, the listener.

cushioned rocking chair
indents from endless
story telling