J.S.Watts’ poem attempts to capture the emotion engendered by a moment of perceived perfection and possibility. Illustration by Karolina Burdon.

There are some days,
like this one,
I could hold forever,
in the palm of my open hand,
like a pale blue hen’s egg,
bathed in sky and nestled
on the pink of my bare skin,
smooth, delicate, perfected,
filled with life
and curious possibility.

But for life to live,
the egg must crack,
the chick must know the world,
or there will be no further
blue egg days.
And yet,
I miss the frail grace of that abandoned egg:
believing there will be others,
knowing they will never
be quite the same.

To ensure that you never miss a future issue of the print magazine, subscribe from just £20 for 4 issues.