Eggs Benediction


In the absence of slotted spoons,
my hands grift you from the roiling
pan, cradle you in china.

Soldiers muster to guard you
while blistered, untended fingers
seek salve in itinerant silence.

Dermis destroyed; third degree
nerve death, while you, coddled
in your sibling sentinel, grow cold.


1 Comment

Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

One response to “Eggs Benediction

  1. So I’m eating breakfast as I read this–and think I’m glad I chose to scramble the eggs. 🙂 I really like the piece, Julie–the images are so clear in so few words. And I get–or read into it–a strong impression that you’re talking about more than things going awry with the first meal of the day.

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