An Egg: Original Poem

An Egg

Differentiates me a woman
At least once a month.
Will I still be different when an egg
Refuses the honor of forming
In my little sticky, soupy womb?

What will I be then?
I will be eggless.
Maybe still leggy, but eggless,
I shall walk around on stilettos
Tipped with stainless steel
Clicking down tile hallways in women's clinics
For old time's sake.

They will make sure that my eggs'
Old home that never was
Is still nice and clean
Swept up
Free of cobwebs and other
Tiny pests.

My eggs will then be made of paper
And tinged with black, blue and multi-
Colored ink. Rainbows of possibilities
That fly from me to other egg containers
That resist the call to hatch those eggs.

Keep your paws off my eggs.

My eggs were dappled blue Robin eggs.
They were stolen by a cuckoo
And now I never get to see them hatch
And fly.

That one egg cracked because our nest broke open
Into a pile of dirty sticks.
Nobody's fault really. It was a failure in construction. The branch that held us up
Would sway too much in the winds of chaos.
We should have made our nest like the swallows in the eaves.

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