In haibun (a literary form originating in Japan), prose and verse (mostly haiku) coexist; the transition between them brings on a “shift” that (ideally) offers depth and additional perspective.
Here is my "Chicago flight" haibun, just published in Failed Haiku #83 - page 88.
Chicago flight
She stops by my seat, and signals that the middle seat is hers. I stand up and help her with her luggage – a delightful tiny suitcase with floral motifs. Less than two minutes into our chat, the question arrives: “Where are you from?”
“You mean…where …my accent is from?” I ask in
turn, smiling.
“Yes.”
“It’s Romanian.”
“Ah, how interesting. You know, I’m retired
now, but I’ve been a violinist. I love European music. I love this
Romanian composer, Bela Bartok.”
“Bela Bartok is a great musician, indeed,
but…” I want to tell her that Bartok is Hungarian, but she is faster:
“Tell me the name of another Romanian
composer.”
“Enescu,” I say. “George Enescu.”
“A, of course…and, one more?”
Ciprian Porumbescu comes to mind, and although I hesitate a bit, I go ahead, pronouncing the name slowly. She repeats it; we both laugh. Chatting softly about everything and nothing, time passes pleasantly. After we land, she turns to me and says,
“My name is Lucy. What is yours?”
“Cristina.”
We say goodbye and she moves toward the
exit. There, she stops and waits. When I reach her, she whispers
softly:
“By the way, my name is Claire; what is
yours?”
pine tree forest
in the darkest shade
off-key chirps
