Hallowing Loss


A hornet struggles in the air, slow to fly off after a fruitless search under the deck table. Emerald leaves on a barren peach tree doomed to the saw tremble in the slightest summer breeze.

My throat catches. I remember so much. A mother’s glazed stare, a sneer that almost becomes a scowl. A father’s sigh, a fallen face courting despair. The endless outrage in the tension-ridden frowns of critical co-teachers. All of these losses that I refuse to hold, and refuse to cast away.

Then I recall Rumi’s blessed counsel, and shudder, crying dry tears:

“Close your eyes. Fall in Love. Stay there.”

blue sky
another caressing breeze
on my skin and hair


photograph by Kelsey Krajewski

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Frank J. Tassone

Frank J. Tassone lives in New York City's "back yard" with his wife and son. He fell in love with writing after he wrote his first short story at age 12 and his first poem in high school. He began writing haiku and haibun seriously in the 2000s. His haikai poetry has appeared in Failed Haiku, Cattails, Haibun Today, Contemporary Haibun Online, Contemporary Haibun, The Haiku Foundation and Haiku Society of America member anthologies. He is a contributing poet for the online literary journal Image Curve, and a performance poet with Rockland Poets. When he's not writing, Frank works as a special education high school teacher in the Bronx. When he's not working or writing, he enjoys time with his family, meditation, hiking, practicing tai chi and geeking out to Star Wars, Marvel Cinema and any other Sci-Fi/Fantasy film and TV worth seeing.

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