The girl knew what it was like to be inside an egg.
She understood the cool gel of the whites,
the smooth curvature of the shell.
She had known stillness in those curves.
The girl had known narrow necks, and brittle ribcages, and the sound
of snapping. She had known teacups,
and wine glasses, and shattering on impact; and she knew
eggshells were harder than they seemed.
The girl slid from the chair to the floor
and pooled on the linoleum, because she knew
eggs tend to slide like that, chair to floor.
By then she had forgotten she had bones.
Tell me about the girl in the egg.
I used to know her, but I find her
sliding between my fingers. She is pooled
at my feet, and I have forgotten what structure
was supposed to hold her up.
I really, really like this. Particularly, "she understood the cool gel of the whites" and "because she knew eggs tend to slide that, chair to floor." I'm trying to think of where else to go...maybe a little more background? Or the yolk? Ah, I don't know, I just wanted to comment and let you know I like it :)
ReplyDeleteThanks, Lauren! I've thought about this a bit, and it seems that the poem turning out to be about the breakdown of structure - the breaking of the eggshell, the disappearance of bones, etc. I'd like to enact this in the form somehow - maybe by making the form more pronounced in the first stanza. It's sort of about how a thing can get away from you, even a thing you make (like I made the girl.)
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