Eggs Out

  

  
“I was going to make you a cake, but I had no eggs,” she cried and then crumpled to the floor. No consoling her. She was crushed, fragile as the empty space where the egg carton used to be–a shadow of a former delicate, susceptible embryo container.

She too had been plucked from her mother’s warmth too soon, arresting her world in a devil’s playground of tears and fearful misfortunes always on the verge, always.

“It’s okay, really okay. It was their time to fly. You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault. I love cake, but I love you more. Come up and sit beside me this time, just now.” 

She wiped her nose in the plaid flannel folds of her elbow and rose. It was over.

Late Afternoon Blank

  

Late afternoon, she asks the silence, “How many nows do we get?”

Infinite, as time slips past the moment always–no one answers.

Must be the caffeine under load, the crash after so many hours awake.

“These particular seconds feel dry, in need of plumping,” she adds,

sucking dew-lipped petals in bloom while sprig leaves turn in shame.

Amid the giants slashed beaming rays the sun dust coats the light

pastels of the sky drooped through the branches spill chestnut 

splattering solid pane of an ever adulterated blue, one poison pale.

Arc of the illusion, placid rivulets dribble past plastic encased feet,

“I know I will never pass here again, this earth, this sky, these trees

at this time of day.” And the hiss at the tail of the “yes” lingers a little.

The crackle of vinyl absorbed whistles becalms the watching birds–now.

An empty canvas missing minutes lies blank, only us inside at the edges.

 
photo credit:  http://frothmagazine.com