smushing trampling mashing to resigned smears in her eyes
butter knife smoothing out egg shells
foetus fertilised, mother’s gnashed teeth
breast milk curdling into curling nails
an apparition, passed with indifference into strangers’ surgery gloves
a gaping plate, i get up early to make myself breakfast, clinking against a dusty dining table
listlessly discovering halfway through a bite, the rot that I ignored.
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Author:
fkoshk (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 1st, 2022 21:13
- Comment from author about the poem: In the early morning, I make myself a sandwich, walking past closed doors. The melted cheese is lukewarm; the crushed egg bitterly cold.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 9
Offline)
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