Mom lies on her side. Her once immaculate hair now spreads across her pillow. She doesn’t know how she is. Only that she hasn’t been out of bed more than a half an hour all day. I kiss her cheek then rest mine next to hers. I can almost feel the tears she never cries.
hardened snow
a flight from my own
moistened eyes
more by FRANK J. TASSONE
photograph by Christiane Nuetzel
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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