Jennifer Wheelock

Ode to an Egg


Oblong of promise 

that cannot be un-

promised, like a day 

that won’t undawn. 

It is here. 

There is no choice 

but to break through 

its hard shell. Slit 

the blind. Finger 

the strings of light 

and watch them quiver 

with dust and cells.

Sublime slime 

of beginnings

to which I yoke

my hesitation—

a stubborn horse

drawn by an ellipse

of light and air. 

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