The
egg shell on my lap has broken into distinct provinces.
I
carefully pull at one of the small angular pieces,
trying
to get underneath to expose the thin translucent membrane
that
encircles in protective unity the egg's interior riches.
I
hold the length of the egg in my fingers,
and
gently break the elastic covering,
hoping
to create a clean tear that will allow me
to
remove all the small angular pieces
with
one squeezing movement of my right hand.
Miraculously,
the membrane slides off,
taking
with it the hard, jagged pieces
and
revealing a smooth white layer
that
had been boiled into hardness a few hours earlier.
I
bite through this third protective layer to reach the yellow treasure within.
In
a different time, in a different context,
it
could have grown into a center of consciousness.
Now
it nourishes my hungry body
and
reminds me that under my own hard shell
exists
a vulnerable center that can nourish my yearning soul.
(July
8, 2013)
