HAIBUN: Ozone

 
Ozone
      —somewhere near Weatherford, Texas–1951
 
        dry lightning
        my arm hairs
        stand on end
 
Rows of folding chairs are lined up in the sawdust as we enter the dimly lit tent. Someone has parked a battered pump organ to the right of the microphone stand.
 
I notice all the lean men in western boots, clutching Stetsons in one hand, tattered hymnals in the other. Their women wear flour-sack ginghams with a crescent of damp under each arm.
 
Now, the leather-faced preacher strides in and loosens his bolo tie. He raises his arms with a shrill HOWehLOOya—then, with a flourish, opens his Bible and gets right down to business.
 
A frizz-headed woman moans amen. My father slowly shakes his head, clasps my shoulder with his soft Lutheran hand and gives me a little squeeze. The organ kicks in.
 
Local folks sway with the music. An older guy waves his blue bandana and babbles some kind of gibberish. The wife beside him passes out. Tears of fear roll down my cheeks.
 
Quietly, Daddy picks me up and walks us out into the steamy twilight. The air behind us throbs with hymn as we make a beeline for our car parked in a pasture thick with cow pies.
 
I recall how tenderly he spreads his handkerchief over the hot passenger seat; how he cranks the ignition, slams the Studebaker into reverse, raising a dusty rooster tail as we light out for the horizon.
 
        between drizzle
        and downpour—roof gutters
        speaking in tongues

Youmans, Rich (ed), Contemporary Haibun, Vol 19. Red Moon Press, 2024

Honorable Mention: San Francisco International Haibun Contest 2023

___________ 
Commentary (Judges: Stephen Henry Gill, Shalini Pattabiraman)
 
Reading something good is like taking your mind to the gym; it forces you to work, take notice, solve puzzles, shift between moods, resolve problems. “Ozone” achieves that effectively from the very beginning with a title that is intriguing while the opening haiku immediately establishes an urgency and tension that the prose then builds to a climax. The tone and mood largely describe a religious ritual of some kind, where a child, seeking refuge with her father during a storm, is filled with fear at the strangeness of this experience. The mood then effectively shifts into tenderness of emotion when 'he spreads his handkerchief over the hot passenger seat' as the duo then escape into a 'cricket-thick horizon'. I loved the intricate worldbuilding. Dee puts the reader into the tent, where alongside the child we too take notice of 'women' who 'wear flour-sack ginghams with a crescent of damp under each arm'. Imagery in the haibun is stunning. The prose continues the religious intensity and strangeness of the experience into the haiku, creating something cinematic. (SP)