AT ODDS, AT THE TABLE

Day 3: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Always
that fine line
between
what slots
together and what
slips in between,
those black spots
of doubt that cannot
be fully folded out
like linen that lingered
too long
before being laid,
like chopsticks
that fight for form
between fingers foreign,
like this morning,
in the park,
the birds you breaded
and tonight,
on your plate,
the duck, now shredded.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Leave a Reply