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    Seven Haiku from my Grandmother

    in the Kawabe House 

     

    by Sharon Hashimoto

     

              -- for Sayoko Toda

     

    Knock, knock on room door—

    peeking through a keyhole, I

    see another eye.

     

    *****

    Elder person’s room—

    everyone fascinated

    with the poinsettia.

     

    *****

    Face after face stare

    back.  I shrug.  My weak hearing

    makes talking look odd.

     

    *****

    Lip licking around

    me—people gossip, tasting

    many distressed words.

     

    *****

    Autumn yellow leaves—

    thin sun—only one sudden

    night of wind.  All gone.

     

    *****

    Early, I wake—cold.

    The comforter escaped, not

    staying on my back.

     

    *****

    Coins in our pockets

    come and go, gains and losses—

    a parallel line.

     

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