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.