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Onion Sandwich: A Haibun of Imagination


My mother used to say, “It’s hard to improve on an onion sandwich.” She’d peel three small beauties, slice them, and lay the slices between thick slabs of buttered brown bread, sprinkling them with salt and pepper. She chewed slowly and thoughtfully until she had eaten every pungent morsel. Then brushing the crumbs from her lips, she’d reach across the table for her garden catalog, delve into it and dream of planting peas—and more onions—in several parts of her garden.


Winter afternoon—
two jays at the bird feeder
fight over one seed.

 

Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #252
 
More Writers’ Pantry #6 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Safe

 photo 173_zpsf544b713.jpg
 


 
~~ 1 ~~
 
safe from prying eyes
one straight line of a love note
hidden in a book
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
safe from prying eyes
the limit of her patience
with its fraying edge
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
safe from prying eyes
a lane ensconced in shadows
somewhere in south Wales
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
safe from prying ears
the sound of wasted water
dripping down a drain
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
safe from prying eyes
all the pornographic parts
snipped and snapped and tossed
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
safe from prying eyes
forgotten case of whisky
underneath the stairs
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
safe from prying eyes
the old farmhouse east of town
where black widows weave
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
safe from prying eyes
a single grain of sugar
underneath the bowl
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
safe from prying eyes
children hidden in the reeds
near the river’s bend
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
safe from prying eyes
the way that leads from bondage
through a parting sea
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
safe from prying ears
the sound of Gaza’s mothers
weeping for their dead

 
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #213
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 173
 
More Sunday Scribblings 2: “Safe from Prying Eyes”