Grade-A Medium Egg

Well my first post is a poem I wrote for a poetry class in July 2004. We had to think about 5 items, and then let the image form themselves. The tone is exemplary of the way I'm feeling right now.


Grade-A Medium Egg

I watched it
clink and clank.

I saw the babe that was
supposed to become a chicken.
I saw it look up and part its mouth.
I wanted to hear
a chirp, I wanted to see
it peck or flutter, but all I could muster
was a blink. It blinked.

I turned the stove off and removed the pot,
took it out and sat it on the counter,
nestled in between folds of tissue, cradled
in a paper nest. The steam rose and fell,
billowed and gave up.
I lifted it and eclipsed the sun shining
through the window.

Then I let it fall,
hard. It bounced up and
down, as if not believing
itself and when it
finished rolling and
shaking, I snatched it up and saw a rose pressed into its side,
leaves and vines and branches wrapped ‘round and ‘round.

I picked at that rose and it fell away,
scared and scarred.
I picked at it and it ran, withered, breaking
flake by stunned flake,
until I felt the tender flesh of my youth,
innocence like the white light pain of
a car door and fingers
going crunch as they meet.

I wanted to eat its curves and shine and
perfect smooth whiteness. I wanted it back
as much as yesterday when I told a smooth white lie.