Poetry, Relationships



Eggshell is a shade
cool as pitted milk-soft carapace
and searing as canker, rope
burn across yoked tongue. It strains
against the unspoken
yet swelling
power to rupture
the membrane
that keeps us
yet nested
together. Caution fails,
a crack forms,
unleashing the wind
now hissing across
this uncrossable divide.


Image Credit: Still life by Jo Bradney

1 thought on “Vigilance”

  1. Nothing Is Too Small Not To Be Wondered About

    The cricket doesn’t wonder
    if there’s a heaven
    or, if there is, if there’s room for him.

    It’s fall. Romance is over. Still, he sings.
    If he can, he enters a house
    through the tiniest crack under the door.
    Then the house grows colder.

    He sings slower and slower.
    Then, nothing.

    This must mean something, I don’t know what.
    But certainly it doesn’t mean
    he hasn’t been an excellent cricket
    all his life.

    – Mary Oliver

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