local_library For My Cousin

by Gary Layton

Published in Issue No. 236 ~ January, 2017

I didn’t know what to call you.

The dull side of a blade,

egg cracked and

fried,

sunny side up.

wasted yolk

in slippery shell.

You were a vapor,

a collection of

cells:

blood before marrow,

Queen Anne’s Lace cut at the stem;

after seed,

before bloom,

pressed in a book.

Given to God,

instead of your mother.

Spare the delivery room.

Spare the earth.

You were enough.

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I'm underweight, underpaid, and overly contemplative. I play the guitar and write creatively. I like the X Files and I eat my cereal without milk. Some nights, I dream of a world where mayonnaise doesn't exist.