Sara Moore Wagner

A STUDY ON CRACKING

I practice what to tell my doctor:
I have been sad, I am sad, there is nothing
wrong with my life, the sun rises
gold over the backyard, the dog
curls herself into my thigh; at night,
I close my eyes and sleep comes easy,
in the shower I think of ways
to die like I think of groceries,
appointment times. I don’t think
of ways to die, no, I am happy, see
these lines at the corners of my eyes,
how they fork out like the flames
in the gas burner, how I am
holding it together, the way
the eggs do the rest of it, the way
the eggs turn solid, the way the eggs do.

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