An Unexpected Chill
hortensia anderson
 

The southwest sun sets into purple dusk. The San Gabriel mountains make a rippling black line. Breezes blow soft and fragrant with white flowers - gardenia, honeysuckle, jasmine. I am eighteen, doing cartwheels in the warm grass.

Suddenly, I fall. Hard. I can't rise or turn around but I catch the moon shining silver on the blade of a butcher knife...

The next day dawns as if nothing has happened. Handprints around my neck gradually fade, and with them, memories of that night. I don't know it yet, but the pain of the moon's cold betrayal as she failed to save me will deepen.

       October moon
the rapist's broken rosary
     lying in the grass

hortensia anderson is the author of numerous chapbooks as well as a volume of poetry, TRUST (fly-by night press, 1995). Currently, she serves as haibun editor for moonset, the newspaper. She lives precariously on dialysis in nyc's east village with her bengal leopard cat, Camellia and faithful companion, Pain.

Copyright 2008: Simply Haiku