My mother has taken to reciting the deaths of others, a daily litany learned from television, repeated like a rosary. Her favorite is the hiker standing on a rock that gives way. Then there’s the child eaten by a python in Florida. Her terminally ill neighbors who shot themselves are never mentioned. It’s not easy being in good health, waiting for an end with dignity, not looking foolish or at fault. When sirens wail, she runs to the window, watching the ambulance arrive for someone else.

Cynthia Anderson

A California resident and poet for more than 40 years, Cynthia Anderson is the author of eleven books, most recently a collection of haiku and senryu entitled Full Circle (Cholla Needles, 2022). Her poems have been published widely in journals and anthologies, and she has received multiple nominations for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. In 2020, she took up short-form poetry including haiku, senryu, cherita, haibun, and split sequences. Her recent work focuses on the natural world and her family history.

Cynthia is co-editor of the anthology A Bird Black As the Sun: California Poets on Crows & Ravens (Green Poet Press). She makes her home in the Mojave Desert near Joshua Tree National Park.

Author’s website: www.cynthiaandersonpoet.com

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⚡ Formerly Known as Ion, haibun by Cynthia Anderson which was nominated by MacQ for the Red Moon Anthologies, and selected for publication in Contemporary Haibun 17 (Red Moon Press, 2022).