Why Haibun are showing up everywhere these days, I can’t say for sure but I suspect people enjoy the imbalance, the disquisition propped on top and a tiny haiku at the bottom as if a giant cart is propelled by a single wheel, maybe a roller ball for that little ink flourish. The wheel or ink has to carry too much, but so do all haiku, a task designed for a different language, a distillation of rice into wine. This week I’m adding to my cart three days in a tent in the pine woods of a state park in Cape Cod, two bike rides twenty miles along the ocean where my entire being focused on not panicking on the downhills, and just in that three days Israel bombed Iran and a Minnesota lawmaker and her husband were murdered by a killer dressed as a policeman. We are at the slippery slope, or one of many. This week I’m adding rain when it wasn’t predicted and a coming heat wave; I’m adding Noah’s first day of work at the movie theater, I’m adding Juneteenth, and maybe I’ve overloaded and this cart will topple and spill everything I don’t know what to do with.
Mozzarella toy
jaunty tomato beret
so cute—out of stock.
