RSS Feed

Eggs

Yesterday, you brought me a dozen eggs
from the farm down the road, sweetly
remembering my promise to poultry everywhere
to only eat eggs from chickens I know.

I slip the carton in the fridge, quick
so you won’t see the ones I already bought.
An easy deception. We’re in a hurry.
Out the door to the last in a dozen years
of school Christmas concerts.

Early this morning, I hard boiled the extra eggs
and couldn’t decide if this was a metaphor
for riches overflowing
or too many eggs in one basket
or even something about fertility
and the end of this long, wild ride
of being a mom, raising kids.

Who knows what it means?
Some days, this is delicious enough:
Steam rising from the pot of almost boiling water,
as I flip through the possibilities and
anticipate an egg salad sandwich.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Shades of Gray - Denison TX

Photographer of Life in North TX & points beyond

Red Wolf Poems

Prompting new poems for Red Wolf Journal

Writing the Day

A Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry

%d bloggers like this: