The Other Salt



The Other Salt


My grandson rolls his boiled egg

like a marble so I can salt it all over.

He says, Sprinkle it with the “other salt.”

I grab the pepper shaker and splash

the egg with black flakes. He smiles.

The black specks look like faces on snow.

We look closer and think we see eyes,

a nose, lips stretching to be heard, each face

fighting to be seen in a valley of white.



Robin Wright


Robin Wright lives in Southern Indiana. Her work has appeared in Ariel Chart, Minnow Literary Magazine, Ekphrastic Review, Re-side, Black Bough Poetry, Spank the Carp, Muddy River Poetry Review, Rat’s Ass Review, and others. One of her poems was nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Panoply, and her first chapbook, Ready or Not, was recently published by Finishing Line Press.


  1. cute and useful literary subject to balance the dark stuff.

  2. It’s early morning here and your poem has set me up for the day. I imagined myself with my grandson. I love the ‘black specks…like faces on snow’ and the way they fight ‘to be seen in a valley of white’. Realism with a sprinkle of fantasy.

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