Global Haiku • Spring 2013 |
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Bones by 28 March 2013 1st place: "Bones" by Therese This story stood out to me not only for its quality haiku and prose, but the way Therese integrates the haiku and haiku aesthetics into the story itself. It displays the joys of haiku, the value of community, and the fact that anyone can write haiku. ~Aubrie Cox |
BONES
Dying Quiet, except for the occasional beeping of the monitor, the echo of silence was deafening. Sitting upon the white, sterile windowsill- a vase of wilting flowers shivered in the breeze. A lone figure surrounded by bare walls and medical equipment, gazed lazily at the plant. His grey-blue eyes, cloudy with wisdom, scrutinized the object which once held so much life and beauty. Never removing his eyes from the sill, his rough hands worked diligently against the notepad.
Scoffing at the hastily written poem, the old man’s hands crumpled the paper aggressively before letting it plop on the floor into an accumulating mound of trash. At the sound of a familiar click, the old man snapped his head to the door. “Well, good morning Mr. Walsworth. Glad to see you’re already up!” Grumbling below his breath, he slowly turned his focus back to the plant. Approaching the bedside, the petite, young nurse began her daily routine. Checking his vitals, the two operated in complete silence. Her dainty hands felt cool against his sensitive skin and before long he relaxed into her touch. “Arthur.” A little startled at his sudden outburst, the nurse adjusted her body to face the old man. “Oh, I’m sorry. What did you need,” she asked politely. Aware of his infamous foul temper, she encouraged his response with a kind smile. “Just call me Arthur,” the old man commanded. Finally taking in the figure before him, his eyes warmed. Rose colored cheeks contrasted brilliantly against her pale skin. Squinting his eyes, Arthur studied the glowing aura that seemed to surround the woman. “Okay. . . Arthur,” the nurse slowly spoke, “We’re all done for now, but would you like me to bring you something? Maybe a magazine or—“ The old man’s focus, however, had already been weaned from the figure in front of him. A hazy look of curiosity contorted his gruff features. Quietly, the nurse left the man to his thoughts.
Flesh Dangling from her wrist, a delicate bracelet with a silver pendent glittered in the sunlight. Offering a closer inspection, she let his calloused fingers glide over the jewelry. His thumb smoothing over the engraved message he whispered,
“It’s from my cousin,” her voice soothed, “she’s quite the poet.” An uncanny expression masked the old man’s face, lost in contemplation. “Indeed,” he final spoke. Begrudgingly turning away from the nurse, he pondered his own artistic creations. Glancing at his most recent haiku on the bedside, he instinctively flattened his large hand over the paper and crumpled it in one stroke. Oblivious to his bitter mood, the pretty nurse piped up once more before walking away. “She’ll be visiting tomorrow afternoon,” she asserted, “I’ll bring her by, Arthur.” And before a single word otherwise could be uttered, the old man heard the familiar click of the door.
Living Listening intently for signs of life outside of the door, the pensive old man scowled. A great burning jealousy heated him to the very core as he anticipated a meeting with this poet. No doubt a scholar of some yuppie university, the poet’s apparent ease at composing haiku only further irritated the old man. Suddenly a knock sounded. “Good afternoon, Arthur. I see you’ve already finished your lunch,” the young nurse cooed. “I’ve brought you a visitor.” At the sound of her statement, the old man craned his neck to observe the couple. However, he found himself staring into the round, blue eyes and a small child. Donned in a red and white striped apron, the girl’s small frame seemed meager. Observing her gap toothed grin and juice-stained lips, his eyes warmed to the playful youth in front of him. “Hi Artie,” a squeaky voice chirped. Grabbing his large hand in her own, she shook it vigorously. With a quick glance back to the smiling nurse, the old man sat awkwardly in his bed. “I hear you write haiku,” he finally uttered in sour voice. Ignoring his tone, the child simply nodded and raised her left arm. “It’s easy, Artie, you just have to not think about it a lot. You just be very still and quiet, and then when you see something you like you write it down.” A thick, pink cast decorated with scribbles and letters clutched her forearm. A collage of haiku scattered across her arm gave proof to her statement. The tiny youth before him, observant of her surroundings, created sincere artwork simply through her thoughts. No college degree or internship required. “You wanna sign it?” After a brief moment of hesitation, the old man reached for a marker on the desk drawer and tenderly laid his hand on the cast.
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© 2013, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.