Posts Tagged‘Sunday Sentence’

Home » Sunday Sentence » Page 49

Sunday Sentence

by Erika Dreifus on
Disabled

In which I participate in David Abrams’s “Sunday Sentence” project, sharing the best sentence I’ve read during the past week, “out of context and without commentary.”

She reties her scarf, letting her hands
linger on the silk, looks out at her beloved
hills as they deepen and turn gold,
and watches as sheep follow
a shepherd over the hill, straight
into a dying sun, and the evening air
opens with the call to prayer.

Source: Rachel Heimowitz (Rachel Neve Midbar), “Wearing Her Holiday Scarf” (from What the Light Reveals)

Sunday Sentence

by Erika Dreifus on
2

In which I participate in David Abrams’s “Sunday Sentence” project, sharing the best sentence I’ve read during the past week, “out of context and without commentary.”

A poem is something that can’t otherwise be said addressed to someone who can’t otherwise hear it.

Source: Craig Morgan Teicher, We Begin in Gladness: How Poets Progress

Sunday Sentence

by Erika Dreifus on
Disabled

In which I participate in David Abrams’s “Sunday Sentence” project, sharing the best sentence I’ve read during the past week, “out of context and without commentary.”

I don’t want to end up having simply visited the world.

Source: Mary Oliver (1935-2019), “When Death Comes”

Sunday Sentence

by Erika Dreifus on
Disabled

Chicago and Lake MichiganIn which I participate in David Abrams’s “Sunday Sentence” project, sharing the best sentence I’ve read during the past week, “out of context and without commentary.”

Lake Michigan, impossibly blue, the morning light bouncing toward the city.

Source: Rebecca Makkai, The Great Believers: A Novel—at the start of a chapter unlike anything I’ve read before.

Sunday Sentence

by Erika Dreifus on
3

In which I participate in David Abrams’s “Sunday Sentence” project, sharing the best sentence I’ve read during the past week, “out of context and without commentary.”

Two hundred years ago the pregnant women
were wheeled to the Louvre to gaze
at portraits of beautiful nobles,
thinking the lovely features
would travel through their sight
to form their babies’ faces.

Source: Colleen Abel, “The Expectant” (Remake: Poems)