Frogpond 34.3 • Autumn 2011 (pdf) - Haiku Society of America

Rockport
by Ruth Holzer, Herndon, Virginia
I’ve been up the coast to Rockport twice, according to my journals,
so it must be true. In page after page of familiar scribble
are descriptions of the town, the famous red fi shing shack, the
harbor with its small boats, the landmark lighthouse. I had even
made detailed observations about the actors and artists I met.
But try as I might, I can’t recapture a single memory of either
the fi rst trip or the second which had made me feel nostalgic
for the fi rst, or of ever being there at all.
sand in a bottle…
grain by grain
losing it
Into White
by Cara Holman, Portland, Oregon
“You came through with fl ying colors,” she says. She is bustling
around the room, plumping my pillows, straightening the covers.
I open my eyes and look around. I don’t see colors, I see white.
My white hospital gown. White sheets. White walls. White
snowfl akes swirling around outside my one tiny window. My
fi ngers gingerly probe the edges of my bandage, then stop. A
million and one questions bubble up inside of me. Did they get
clean margins? What did they fi nd in my sentinel nodes? Will
I ever feel normal again? They told me I was lucky my cancer
was caught early. I don’t feel lucky right now. I open my mouth
to speak, then think the better of it. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I
will ask my questions, and maybe get answers. I let my eyelids
slowly fl utter shut and feel myself drift.
morning fog—
one foot
in front of the other
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
56 Haiku Society of America