10-Line Tuesday

September 20, 2011


This tall glass of ice water. This quadrant of untamed grass. This half
of a grapefruit, pixelated with sugar. This final plank of an empty dock. This red-hued living room.
This carved rhinoceros from a place where the real thing runs wild. This echo of a laugh,
a touch, a conversation that turned the world upside down. This piece of lined paper. This single bloom
from a late summer garden, tucked inside a thin vase. This teeming silence. This warmth. This brief break
between distruptions. This sprawl of newspaper on the porch. This blank canvas. This tube of paint.
This back road squirreling a mountain range. This maple donut filled with custard. This soup you'll make
when your father comes to visit. This five-dollar bill found after two loads of vacation wash. This faint
smell of mint coming back from a run. This atlas on the driver's seat. This curtain parting from the stage.
This tree angling its leaves toward autumn. This story birthed from ashes. This unstoppable turning of the page.