The return of the cold has saved the last, handkerchief-sized patches of snow. In the east, a silent jet trails the smallest of wakes.
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Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow
Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow
The return of the cold has saved the last, handkerchief-sized patches of snow. In the east, a silent jet trails the smallest of wakes.
Comments are closed.
Wake
What remains, what rises early to the surface of the world– Handkerchiefs of snow on the cobblestones; overhead, the thin plume written by a jet lost to sight. The eyelash curl of a tilde over the “n” in a name I used to have. Hedges unhooked from the foliage. Brow runnels in the soil. Flamenco music raining little hands of silver from a high window. Flecks of ash on the staircase, disappearing on the sixth floor landing. The print of a hand on a cafe window. Ink traveling from a page of newsprint to the doorknob, whose muted note of brass gilds your image in reverse.
~ Luisa A. Igloria
01 03 2011
Dave: slight revision, immediately after I sent the first… Thanks, Luisa
Wake
What remains, what rises early to the surface of the world– Handkerchiefs of snow on the cobblestones; overhead, the thin plume written by a jet lost to sight. The eyelash curl of a tilde over the “n” in a name I used to have. Hedges unhooked from the foliage. Brow runnels in the soil. Flamenco music raining little hands of silver from a high window. Flecks of ash on the staircase, disappearing on the sixth floor landing. Palm print on a cafe window. Ink traveling from a page of newsprint to the doorknob, whose muted note of brass gilds your image in reverse.
~ Luisa A. Igloria
01 03 2011
Urgh, typing too fast. Caught TYPO – “brow” should be “brown” — corrected copy here.
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Wake
What remains, what rises early to the surface of the world– Handkerchiefs of snow on the cobblestones; overhead, the thin plume written by a jet lost to sight. The eyelash curl of a tilde over the “n” in a name I used to have. Hedges unhooked from the foliage. Brown runnels in the soil. Flamenco music raining little hands of silver from a high window. Flecks of ash on the staircase, disappearing on the sixth floor landing. Palm print on a cafe window. Ink traveling from a page of newsprint to the doorknob, whose muted note of brass gilds your image in reverse.
~ Luisa A. Igloria
01 03 2011
I kind of liked “brow runnels” — I was picturing ornately trimmed eyebrows (went with the eyelash curl)!
How funny! My husband got a haircut recently and the barber trimmed his brows…