Down the hill my egg fell open to reveal a perfect ball;
green like a grape and as solid as my skull.
When we drank the salt, a witch appeared on the mound,
arms outstretched, legs running away with themselves.
When car bonnets and amber pill bottles seemed appealing.
I have seen desperation play out in a refined bubble.
I have fallen down the sand in double denim, rugged and dry.
Half a head rolling rainbows to a communion wafer.
By Courtenay Schembri Gray
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