from the Icebox inbox – 18 (haibun)
i’ve been waiting for this – winter – a little obsessed, maybe, writing about it, thinking about it – worried about it some.
i wonder how the Hmong folks felt, their first winter in Minnesota? no snow in the Laotian Highlands, i’m almost sure. the kids at the bus stop, fresh from Thai refugee camps, shivering. we went out, giving them old winter coats, bundling them up. they wore embarrassed looks (if complacent), listening to our strange language, fussing and cooing as we tucked them into ski jackets and childrens’ parkas. all they knew was that the ‘elders’ of this new village wanted them to conform to new ways, new weather. “Asians respect their elders”; or so we always say.
… a ubiquitous icon –
… hand-me-down clothes
an occasional sound of cars hissing past on wet streets. the clock’s ticking, and always… the sound of distant trains. what is it, 3 a.m.? still drunk, i open the blinds, look out, motionless… wanting to be far away.
… gusts of snow
… and the smell of coffee –
… street light in pools
(first posted on Haiku Bandit Society’s site; here, slightly edited)