First line of the piece of fiction currently being banged-together in the workshop of my mind:
"Here's the story of my parents the way it never happened..."
First line of the poem I'm snipping up like a paper snowflake:
"Thanksgiving now, according to the clock"
First line of the letter I just wrote to an absent friend:
"Miss you miss you miss you in the snowing!"
First line delivered to the little dog this morning:
"Dude, it's ugly early for this."
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3 comments:
Skimming through Ginny Lee's blog, I come across an unlikely poem:
"Thanksgiving now, according to the clock
Well, fuck you, Tick-Tock man
Grad school apps I've got to do--
The Dymaxion house of the pseudo-future!
Trains! Plastic moldables! I want to go back
very badly to see Greenfield village.
I did not appreciate as a child
that Robert Frost's house is there.
Before Christmas, there will be lights.
I'll go then."
Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all week. Stick around for the seven o'clock show!
Maggie Kate, you are a shining nickel in a dirty gutter. Come home to us!
have you ever read chris van alsburg's "harris burdick?" it's a children's book, and contains on each page a picture and a first line of a story to go with the picture. it's wonderful! i've become an addict of your blog.
jill.
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