It's Still Life

The Best Laid Eggs

and as I peel eggs today, the soft white flesh sticking to the shell, and tearing away in ragged clumps,

My thoughts
Wander away with
Those  words
        pumped up with helium,
Words that escape the tongue
And rise into the sky
        like smoke
And vanish as we sleep,
        words like
A story’s seedling,
Rising into a bat’s view
And then gone into
the unheard air,

and I realise these eggs have been in the wars, and are better suited for Grandma Eunice’s egg salad.

  © Misky 2020