Objects themselves are not solid, as matter consists of nothing more than a mass of moving electrons. A single stray molecule, alone, is worth little.
I cradle a check from my father’s estate, which, although a sizable amount, is only a tiny percentage of the total. I think back to the sheer stuff that Dad hoarded, which, in terms of dumpster loads, would have cluttered a manly portion of a football field.
For a while, my mind plays variations of this sentence: “All stuff reduced to a piece of paper with inherently worthless numbers.” And how solid am I as a human? A skin suit, bulked up on eighty percent water. Clutching paper, now spotted with tears.
in the now
where to go next
when the past
—One of three unranked Finalists in MacQ’s
is an award-winning cherita poet, a Best of the Net and Dwarf Star nominee, and
the author of seven books of haiku-based writing. Titles include Steel Cut Moon
(Cholla Needles Press, 2019), and three from Yavanika Press: No Velcro Here
(2019), The Silence We Came For (2020), and Fingerbone Sky (2021).
His short-form writing has appeared in many journals and anthologies, including
Failed Haiku, Haibun Today, KYSO Flash, MacQueen’s Quinterly, The
Aurorean, and The Cherita among others.
In 2017, Peter invented a new haiku-centered linked form called “split
sequence.” His recent book, Just Dust and Stone (Velvet Dusk
Publishing, May 2021), is a collection of collaborative split sequences co-written
with Bryan Rickert. Peter lives with his family in the high desert of southern
“Love Thing”: The Allure of the Split Sequence, craft
essay by Peter Jastermsky in Issue 9 of MacQ (August 2021)