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.
2 Comments
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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