Expressive Domain

Stability of a Three Cornered Stool

Her mother told her
it will better in the morning.

Go to sleep, little one.

Comforted, she sleeps.

Morning was not sunnier,
her pain spilling awake
with runny eggs.

He had his fill
of both women,
wife and mother-in law,
cornering him
again.

Go to hell, both of you!

Washing his hands of the matter
he left her to sop up
with a triangle of dry toast.

Vindicated, he walks.

Over Easy

The grocery bag split
spilling its contents
to the floor
where the eggs
took it upon themselves
to slither,
running with it.

He looked at me
wondering why I wasn’t
running for the towel
hanging within arm’s reach,
the logical thing to do.

Instead I held his arm
forcing a moment
to appreciate
the amebic forms
the whites created,
the yellow run of yolks.

Sharp yellow
cut by the jagged
white teeth of the shells,
started tears flowing
cutting lines in my make-up.

I looked at him.
He wasn’t running
away from my reach,
the logical thing to do.

Instead he held me
looking for the beauty
he knows is there,
somewhere in the mess.

It took more time
to put me back together.