Wednesday, August 26, 2009


I wrote this poem a few weeks ago while Robb was out buying more eggs.



I broke the only egg this morning,
our pancakes seeping from cracked shell
into kitchen rug.

The night before, you'd asked me
why I don't like to cook.
I hate feeling like a failure--
especially before I even begin.




Argent said...

Eggs and relationships are both tricky and fragile. Hope you got some nice pancakes in the end. I love the spare simplicity of the poem.

Viewtiful_Justin said...
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Viewtiful_Justin said...

We did get some great pancakes in the end! And thanks!