A poem

Eggshell

Hard-boiling some eggs, I wonder

If I take the lid off the pan

Will I hear the shells singing?

Bubbles dance and rise

As I bend down and listen --

There!

Steam warm against my ear,

And a delicate hiss,

Then a faint chirp and twitter

As the temperature rises.

If a shell has a weakness,

A crack unseen to the naked eye,

The pressure within

Will burst it,

And part

Of the semi-fluid egg

Will twist itself into the water,

Transforming

Into distorted, rubbery nodules.

But these shells

Are whole this time:

Firm, and strong.

They do not explode.

The eggs within

Retain their shapes.

Shells so fragile,

Like the walls of my heart.

Shells so much stronger

Than the walls of my heart,

Which crack, then burst

As the feelings within pour out,

Mangled and hideous.

No one wants to look at them.

No one wants to touch them.

The eggshell heart

Has broken and died.

Now, how to move on,

Leave the pain behind,

When no song remains

For this eggshell

Heart of mine

To sing?

C.P. Warner

21 November 2010