what new moon
pulls at my aging cycle
once again
the scent of rain raised up
by a gust of lake wind
dusting
her tiny teacups
this inheritance
how she used to delight
in rearranging the set
the Buddhists say
after forty-nine days
the soul leaves the body
on the fiftieth day
there you are: mist on the lake
why did I do it
your urn shaken to hear
this weight of loss
I drown in my dreams nightly
unable to move or breathe
on a rusted nail
the fragile remains
of a tattered Talisman
all that is left
of his dreamcatcher*
* ( for Jun Fujita)
Marjorie Buettner lives and writes in Minnesota. She will have a collection of her haiku and tanka published soon by Red Dragonfly Press. Her most recent publication credits are: American Tanka, Simply Haiku, Ribbons, Gusts, and two anthologies: Landfall and Fire Pearls, Short Masterpieces of the Human Heart. She also writes book reviews for Moonset, a literary newspaper, Gusts and Modern Haiku.
Marjorie Buettner lives and writes in Minnesota. She will have a collection of her haiku and tanka published soon by Red Dragonfly Press. Her most recent publication credits are: American Tanka, Simply Haiku, Ribbons, Gusts, and two anthologies: Landfall and Fire Pearls, Short Masterpieces of the Human Heart. She also writes book reviews for Moonset, a literary newspaper, Gusts and Modern Haiku.