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.
cute and useful literary subject to balance the dark stuff.
ReplyDeleteIt’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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