One-Line Memoirs by Miriam Sagan

The past was not the past I would have chosen had I the words to say it

Spanish gypsies favor polka dots and so do I

A year ago my father was alive but I can’t say if that was better or worse

One leaf falls seemingly out of nowhere

You point out the woodpecker but it has flown before I see it

The ripples of the pond move in one direction—that’s called the wind

it’s a pleasure, the blank page, increasingly sensuous as I grow old in the mirror

I’m walking before moonrise away from the holiday chitchat and one upsmanship and wondering what language the word “gazebo” comes into English from.

***
Readers–send me some?

One thought on “One-Line Memoirs by Miriam Sagan

  1. Ten feet below sea-level in New Orleans to seven thousand feet in Santa Fe, now I sit with my feet up and read by the fire.

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