Mark Mizrahi, 10/12

The Hen has a right to Worry

Your fingers, the same length as mine, cracked the egg on the counter.
The shell was in fragments, and
It was
yet another reminder of the delicate things
Like everything that breaks.
When you spoke and said:
‘I Love you’
Before. Now. Soon.
I smiled and said: ‘Thank you’. Then noticed the egg.
How easily the shell cracks, how simple it was for you
To tear apart its armor and discard it
Leaving just an embryo, a seed that never grew
And, once ingested, will help us grow.
And what helps us grow will discard those things like thin calcium membranes
Used to keep us protected from
Predators like us.
For now, I think, the prey is an unborn chick
Soon, I think, the prey will be…
But thats too far away
When we should be thinking about:
Finishing breakfast, making a train, and packing.
Because movement feels good.
And I think about love,
Watching you devour that little reward you unlocked for nourishment
So I don’t say things as well as I’d like
And I never act exactly the way I want
I always think: I could listen better, I could touch you, in that soft tender way, just a little more.
But instead I’m consumed by the sight of you preying on that little chick.
I shudder a little and the words that I want are locked way, just like the actions I wish to show,
In a thin calcium membrane.
And you walk towards me to kiss my forehead and grab my hand.
And I follow, throwing away the shelled remains of your breakfast on the way outside.

 

Mark Mizrahi: “A conversationalist and a general hedonist. I cook, dance, and sometimes clean. I’ll keep living till I die. I’ll make it as interesting and weird as possible.” 

Promote. Poetry.
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