MOVING DAY, a haibun
Publsihed in World Haiku Review, August 2913
watching her watch
the remnants of my past life
my daughter whispers
it's alright Dad to be sad
on your moving out
On my daughter's insistent demand that it's time for me to enjoy my retirement, I moved to a senior community place euphemistically called Leisure World. On the early morning of that first day, I thought I smelt the aroma of a freshly brewed coffee, so half-awake, I hurriedly walked to the kitchen dreamingly half-expecting a homey breakfast with my late wife.
Unfortunately, I accidentally bumped my head on the bedroom's slightly open door and felt blood oozing from my forehead to my eyes. I sidestepped to the bathroom, snatched a bunch of toilet paper and pressed them tightly over the wound. With my right hand on my forehead, I used my left hand to dial for help.
A paramedic examined the wound and, obviously to lessen the gravity of the situation and put me at ease, he proclaimed with impish grin and studied flair that it was only a cut and no stitches are needed. He then cleaned, dressed and bandaged my head wound, while softly humming a tune.
Blurting repeated thanks while escorting him to the door, I glimpsed a shaft of early morning light gradually piercing and bathing my sleepy neighborhood.
no time nor place
could weaken the memory
of my first love
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