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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.


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