I stand at the kitchen sink, peeling
boiled eggs, fingertips grasping at the hardened
opaque membrane. Cracked skin is met
with cracked skin. I can feel
the sharp fragmentation as
I cradle life, arrested, in my hands.
I dig at shattered remnants, desperate
to find purchase, to reach the softness within.
I lift away broken layers that pull
at the gentle flesh beneath,
too stubborn to let go. They cling to the vestiges
of what was
once whole. I watch the purity of white flesh
become marred by my earnest desperation.
I clutch the segments of fractured, empty shell.
Consumed by the endeavor, I become
lost, unable to remember how it feels
to be unbroken.
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