Only Mother can see what she is responding to. This is not entirely new. But now she sees loved ones who have passed long ago. “Everyone’s here,” she says. Then a while later, “They’re gone now.”
What is it like to be a part of a transition like that, being half-born into a new dimension? A hospice nurse says that my mother is slipping out of the physical realm to more fully occupy the spiritual self.
I try on tomorrow’s coat
She sleeps as if she is wrapping into a chrysalis. I imagine her untangling from earth-bound tethers to stretch something like wings, to dissolve into light. Her almost-ending is increasingly ripe with almost-beginning.
to see if it fits
is a haiku poet, a potter, and a scientist based in Connecticut, USA. Her poetry has
been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and has been honored in
The Haiku Foundation Touchstone Awards (individual poem), the Haiku Society of America
Harold G. Henderson Haiku Award, and Japan’s Basho-an Award.
Kat is a Founding Co-Editor of Whiptail: Journal of the Single-Line Poem and
and an Associate Editor at Sonic Boom. She serves as a panelist in The Haiku
Foundation Touchstone Distinguished Books Award (2021-present) and is a judge in the
annual Trailblazer Contest. Her third book, Stumbling Toward Happiness, shares
her notes of self-exploration.
Kat’s work, including her experimental “sudo-ku” multi-haiku form,
can be read at her new website: https://katlehmann.weebly.com/
Sensory Revelation Tank, haibun by Kat Lehmann which was nominated
by MacQ for the Red Moon Anthologies, and selected for publication in
Contemporary Haibun 17 (Red Moon Press, 2022).