Dust, a haibun by Tim Dwyer

I’ve been thinking about a friend I haven’t seen for forty years. One New Year’s Eve when we were in our twenties, we drank wine, played backgammon and told stories late into the night. She shared one about her Japanese mother at the start of a new year. She was sweeping last year’s dust out the front door, and suddenly froze in place.

stray cat

the green eyes

of grandfather