EGGSHELL
Feb 06, 2020
1 minute
Poem by Ash Dean
Illustration by Grace Lanksbury
To me, she was always all wrinkles,As frail as eggshell and embellished with lace.My lasting image is of her beaming faceWhen she opened the doorBut the more I age the less I can ignoreAnother scene projecting in my headOf her sitting still in a hospital bedAnd the first time her smile ever struck meAs forced and stuck.
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