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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  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.