day 27: haibun w/ two swords


Haibun with Two Swords

It is difficult to tell the season. Why the moon hangs in the sky like a curved sickle. Imagine a woman sitting on a concrete pedestal. She wears a white dress, on an island of asphalt. Behind her, islands bob in miles of vacant ocean. Her shoulders are the same color as the dirt. Her hair is cut ragged at the shoulder. She is tired. Her feet are pale as one white moon. There is a sword for each hand, heavy as her own body. Her arms are crossed over her chest. She is blind. She waits for something.

Long scar on the skin.

I am waiting for touch, your

hot & cold fingers

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