The Slow-Cooked Sentence

Snail sentences,
small and measured

Rachael Conlin Levy
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Nora’s snails, 2016.

I am silent. From behind glass, I hear a plane, a dog’s bark, and watch cedars sway in the wind. In slippered feet, I wander through dim rooms, so cool, so empty; the movement a thin line of progress, so small, so measured. A door is opened. A stair climbed. A damp towel returned to its hook from a spot on the floor. Tomorrow, only the basement floor will reveal my silvered snail-path, damp, glistening, in basement gloom.

 



2 responses to “Snail sentences,
small and measured”

  1. Andrea says:

    Nice. Slow and measured. Have you read The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating?

  2. Only excerpts, though your question reminded me of it. 🙂

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