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Volume 33.1



Best haiku of Fall 2001 issue:

One carp
the color of a woman;
an evening of snow

Ryan Underwood

Best senryu of Fall 2001 issue (2 awards):

My neighbor's vomit
     I hear the liver cancer
          her window to mine

Robert Henry Poulin

another new grave
     a young man raises his ball cap
          and turns it around

Ross Figgins

Favorite haibun of the Fall 2001 issue:


The air is crisp this spring at the mall. The stores are not open yet. The French bakery is the only place doing business this early. With café au lait and baguette I sit outdoors in the early morning sun.

I’m waiting to see a friend of many years. This is her favorite mall and she visits it almost daily. She’s schizophrenic. Her illness makes her refuse all medical help and intervention is against the law in California, so she remains untreated. I wait several hours. Just when I am about to give up, she suddenly appears. I notice dark circles under her eyes and her blouse and pants are dirty, but neat. The people around us stare. She recognizes me. She stops a few yards from my table. “Hello, Are you visiting?” she asks. “Yes, I came to see you. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” “Sure,” she smiles. “I’ll be right back.” She walks on and is swallowed up by the crowd of shoppers.

looking over my shoulder—
my seat already taken
by another woman

Carolyn Rohrig




©2002 Modern Haiku • PO Box 68 • Lincoln, IL 62656