Callused hallux digs the dirt, nervous
of what’s yet to come—I can only say:

Breathe, jumpy, think of light. All
cannot be grim as a goose

Who, unaware, is warming an egg
Not graced with life, unfertilized.

She chases off all who draw near,
Her fear the hatchling’s peril.

Poor mother goose, your ribs are showing,
Your breast has thinned, and winter’s coming.

Listen, anxious, light is simple
Simple like the egg that hatches.

You are holding fast to that
which only keeps you thin and sad.

Your former life’s not graced
with light, you cannot hatch

New life from sorrow.


September 2011