haibun, election day morning
BY Elizabeth Cunningham
Wind plays the chimes. Oak leaves spin, black against grey sky. Tiny birds fly with them. A hawk soars higher, a raven crosses the yard in full cry. On the ridge, ribbons of color. Down the street, the polls are open. We may or may not know by tonight who has won, who will affect the fate of so many who cannot vote—refugees, whales, butterflies….
we hold elections
the trees shed their leaves, birds fly
let’s vote for the earth