Poem by Sarah Rose Nordgren

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THE OUTER CRUST

The outer crust of my life peeled away
and under it I am left with a white
and trembling egg, round as the moon. 

Bruised also, in those places where the flesh
had sealed to the shell
and came away with my thumb. 

Gradually, the surface solidifies. 
Soon it will grow hard again and begin
giving off dust. To hold it

is to hold a pebble from another planet. 
To throw it is to watch it grow
further and further away each year

by a worm’s length. 

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