Frank J. Tassone

Tag: haibun

  • Recovering

    Residual aches. Are they coronal remnants, or Rheumatoidal antecedants? After almost a week, it’s still difficult to tell. Nevertheless, I welcome a flow of returning vitality. Even if it trickles like stream during drought. Even if the chorus of nailbiting thoughts arise with this flow: How the candidate hasn’t answered my text, with his incomplete…

  • New Year’s Moments: a #TankaProse

    A sushi-combo/Bento-box dinner combo, and then Frank goes out. We watch “In the Heights,” then the NYE shows. Dance to Journey performing live at Times Square. Kiss at midnight. Frank texts, then calls, and we wish each other Happy New Year. after midnight the sudden fireworks amidst falling rain holding each other in twisted sheets…

  • Unseasonal Desolation

    The day of Christmas Eve. A fresh layer of snow has nearly melted as the overcast sky of morning clears. I woke on my own, watched all of the shows I wanted–including one with Frank. The aroma of freshly baked lasgna still pervades the kitchen. Soon, we will meet the rest of the family at…

  • Amentalio

    An ordinary work day: only an hour commute, a Spoken Word poetry lesson, a guest appearance by the Creative Arts Team, another More Writing Monday (on a Tuesday) lesson. The meetings after work meant a Four O’Clock departure. It was already twilight by the time I arrived home. No stop at Maryrest. No visit to…

  • Homecoming

    Frank walked off with his friend from home. We called him at least once a week. Sometimes, we’d turn on FaceTime. We laughed at the shenanigans of other parents, and of some of his friends still at home. He made new friends, kept up his studies (We hope!), enjoyed the party scene, and continues his…

  • A Glimpse of Fading Light

    The Eastern Horizon brightens after six in the morning. The Western horizon dims by five in the afternoon. The days contract ever more, as November deepens. Darkness grows. Nonetheless, another year passes. Another Veterans Day, in which we honor those that served. Another St. Martin of Tours, in which we honor the one that laid…

  • An Uneasy Rest

    Voices. The small, polite chatter of acquaitances catching up. Banal remarks like, “He was so close to retirement,” and “What will his son do now?” I try to open my eyes. Nothing happens. I urge my lips to shape the words I want to say. Again, nothing. I try to lift one of my crossed…

  • Ultimatum: an #AmericanSentence #Haibun/#Prosery

    The fires grow. Fallen men groan, holding their trembling hands over hemorrhaging wounds. A rancid odor worsens. The mansion that served as a warlord’s fortress begins collapsing in on itself. Neither of us care. We face each other, ten paces between us. Firelight flickers off of our swords. The coldness in his eyes belies his…