“Haibun for Tom Young” by Roberta Whitman Hoff

HAIBUN FOR TOM YOUNG

Roberta Whitman Hoff

I sat on the cool slate steps of the home that belonged to my friend

and neighbor, Tom Young. Mother wanted me out of her hair so I went to pet the neighbor’s happy dachshund named Lady;

that was my excuse to visit. On hot summer mornings

Tom taught me how to sit still on the porch and watch the morning dew glisten

like sparkling diamonds of water on every single strand of green grass in front of me,

to wait and listen for the heat bugs; I felt the heat of morning rise first

and then they came in a wave of screeching sound

always just before noon and I would blink and all the dew vanished.

Summer returns I remember the man my heart named Grandfather