New in Haiku Series
butterflies under glass by Carolyn Hall
For Tyshawn Bonito
The tweed blazer, shirt, and tie were laid out and pressed—
Your clothes set out on the bed that morning
for a job interview. Cufflinks on each sleeve, and shoes
on the floor near each pant leg. Shades down
with the window open. The night before
was one of the many times I avoided your call. I carry
around a blame that holds me apart: an alley cat left in the open—
You were so down. Your walk so hip, a sharp purposely played out of
key. All that’s left is me, grandma, and this house. It all seems to
matter more over an old hard feeling.
The day I found you anchored high on a belt, there was snow
on the windowsill, but it wasn’t cold—
I’m afraid to understand how close we are, holding in
the family’s unmarked ledges. Brother, it’s still hard to walk around
with this face, hands, and blood.
by Chris Slaughter
from his collection “How to Hurt“
Chris Slaughter graduated from Hunter College with a MFA in creative writing where he received a Shuster Award. He also obtained a MSED in students with disabilities from Brooklyn College, and a degree in English (concentration in creative writing) from Medgar Evers College. He has received fellowships from Cave Canem, North Country Institute for Writers of Color, and Brooklyn Poets. Born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, he dedicates himself to finding creative ways of teaching, being a dad, and exploring different avenues in writing. Chris is a 7th grade Gen Ed/Special education teacher in East New York, Brooklyn. He is working on his full manuscript titled Dig.