BLACK LINES - bill barr


bill barr

I saw a jagged black line much like the torn edge of onionskin paper out of the corner of my eye in the kitchen one morning I was preparing the grapes. Rinse one, slice it in half, scoop out the seeds, squish a piece into my mouth when the black tear slipped across my peripheral vision against the backdrop of the sheer lace window dressing. I couldn’t catch one when I looked straight for it and I envisioned a rip in the universe then for a while thought it was the shadow of birds playing across the ground. It rekindled memories of hot summer days in our yard trying to find a happy medium between the melting and brainfreeze while eating popsicles in the sun and jets cruised overhead. We thought it good luck and great fun to catch a shadow of the passing planes so high above. We hear the roar. Look for the sun. Gauge the angle. Move shrieking to intercept it then shiver as the dark streak tore through us. That instant the melting won. We lick the sticky juice from our fingers a nd blink the black lines from our eyes.