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| Issue 22: | 4 Feb. 2024 |
| Haibun: | 87 words |
By Terri L. French
Adrift
A half milligram of Xanax chased down with a four-ounce pour of tawny port. An oscillating fan whirring white noise. Words from a novel that should have long ago been put to bed blur together, sentences commingling into nonsensical, half-formed thoughts. Tension ebbs as the benzo and alcohol back float down the bloodstream. A dream of fields and forests. Vines and moss covering every stump and stone. A beast hiding in the shadows of my temporal lobe.
first light
a spider’s web anchored
to the ethers
Terri L. French
is an author, editor, and haiku poet who lives on the road, with her husband and dog, in a home on wheels. Terri is past Southeast Regional Coordinator for The Haiku Society of America and served on the Board of The Haiku Foundation. She is former editor of Prune Juice Journal (senryu & related forms), and on the editorial team of contemporary haibun online (cho).
Author’s website: https://www.terrilfrenchhaiku.com/
More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond
⚡ Precipice, haibun by Terri L. French in cho (Issue 18.3, December 2022)
⚡ Tongue-tied, haibun in cho (Issue 17.3, December 2021)
⚡ Tzur Hei HaOlamim, haibun story in MacQueen’s Quinterly (Issue 5, October 2020)
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