After a routine EKG, the cardiologist’s medical diagnosis was that my upper right atrium possessed a “weird flappy thing.” In order to get a better look—and hopefully to come up with a less obscure diagnosis—he scheduled a Transesophageal Echocardiogram. A thin tube would be passed through my mouth, down my throat, and into my esophagus. The night before the procedure I dreamt a beautiful bird lived in my heart chamber, its wings beating to the rhythm of blood flow. Perhaps this bird would one day burst through my chest cavity with my heart held gingerly in its grasp, carrying it to a nest lined with downy feathers high on a hilltop where it will beat forever.

consciousness
the way it flutters
before it fades

Terri L. French

formerly served on the Board of Directors of The Haiku Foundation. She is past Southeast Regional Coordinator for The Haiku Society of America and former editor of Prune Juice Journal of senryu and kyoka. A prior editor of the online journal Haibun Today, Terri now serves on the editorial team of contemporary haibun online (aka cho). She and her husband, Ray, and dog, Chaka, spent four years as full-time RVers and now make their home on a mountain in Huntsville, Alabama.

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)