10-Line Tuesday

November 3, 2015

learning to read again

I was fuming about after-school traffic, how congested even a small town
can get, kids pouring like ants into the streets. My silent assault continued
at the grocery store, whose aisles careened with leisurely shoppers unfolding
the weekly circular starbursted with the latest sales. I kept thinking
I was in a hurry - this narrative so familiar and persistent - when it's impatience
that colors too many of my pages. While I staggered through the obstacle course
of the dairy case, a woman - a mother, a grandmother, a wife - was on her final
lines, an innocent riding in the passenger seat as a truck in the opposite lane
weaved too far and struck the blow that closed the book for good. This morning, I want
to slow everything down - each sip of coffee and blade of grass. Every blink of my foolish eyes.