It always seems to me a wee bit tragic to crack eggs open.
Whole, they are perfection.
I love their shape, their range of calm colors,
the way their matte shells play with light,
their smooth roundness in my hands.
whether they are fertilized and warmed
or cartoned and chilled,
they only fulfill their destiny of nourishment
when they're broken.
I've been thinking about forgiveness.
My friend Julie told me that I need to forgive someone.
We often hear how we need to forgive
in order to be whole.
But why does forgiveness feel like
when someone has really, really hurt me
and hasn't asked for pardon
even when I tried to move
Maybe my silent breaking
will nourish a chance of new life
for that person.
Maybe that freedom from who I want her to be,
my making peace with who she is,
is as much about
as it is
it's good to be