“I say my mantra:
idon' twannadieidon' twannadieidon' twannadieidon' twannadieidon' t
wannadie”
— Trish Salah

The glorious yellow
yolk of an egg—
the surface tension
snapping and the rich,
unctuous cream of
one single cell
spilling outward into
the cavernous toast—
this is what it feels like to be alive.
So fragile, so ready
to snap,
surrounded by sharpness
and thirst
for your marrow,
your golden blood.