A blue egg in May,
The last of springtime's clutch, cold
Now, empty of life.
About the Creator
Jennifer A. G.
π¨π¦ Canadian Writer, Painter & Embroidery Artist
βΎοΈ MΓ©tis Nation
π University of Victoria Alumna
π Publications: The Malahat Review, Freefall Magazine, Geist, Best Canadian Poetry 2026
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Our Song
Evening has given way to night. Gently, I settle next to you on the comfortable, old love seat and reach for your hand. You snatch it away, again. It cuts me to the quick, but I hide the pain, understanding that the reaction is but part of your demented state. Since the accident, your presence here in our cozy home has been clouded by a haze I can't see. Nevertheless, I feel the frigidity of your expressions and it serves as an excruciating reminder of the immeasurable distance between us.
By Dana Crandella day ago in Fiction
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