Eggshells and Blades
Everything started to go wrong today,
from the moment the sun collapsed
out of the white sky onto my overused pan.
My world cracked open with the last eggshells
breaking in my hands.
I knew my meetings would go south,
and my dog would probably run away with the neighbor.
The silent cactus from my ex sank into its pot,
slipping through the window panes,
beneath the floorboards,
returning to the ground—
choking the Earth with its tiny blades,
popping it like a blue balloon.
And there I was, left to float in space,
with my ruined poached egg,
wondering if anyone ever truly stays.
Born and brought up in the beautiful landscapes of Bangladesh, Syeda Anika Mansur is a postgraduate student and freelancer. Her heart finds solace in poetry, stories, and painting. Cats are her forever companions. Her poems have appeared in In Parentheses, Shabdaguchha, The Journal of Undiscovered Poets, and forthcoming in other journals. You can find her on Instagram at @hearthacker_anika