Poem: Castaway

Rain clouds over Seattle skyline, photo by Christian Bobailla

 

Castaway

by Shannon Laws

 I am a yolk inside an egg
first light backlit behind mother’s skin
Morning glows gently
through her Texas accent

It’s about to rain in Seattle
Clouds dark-gray-pregnant with drops
hover over Yesler Way

Latin guitars labor heel slaps
against slats laid on the café floor,
serenade woodblock prints
balanced by wires against the red wall

Joker behind me gets up
throws something in the basket
It’s Wednesday afternoon
smashed into a ball
wasted

 


I learned I was born on a Wednesday. Such a quiet day to be abandoned, laid like an egg in a forest-floor nest, placed there for fate to guard but the world to devour.

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