I want to write a poem on the inside of an eggshell.

A poem that will carry life in its yolk, with white or brown skin.

Honestly, I want to write a woman into words.

She would have fireflies in jars for eyes.

And a life that stages a mutiny against the world.

Her smile would be a flower that blossoms all year round, with roots that stretch into her soul. It would hold lungs for ransom and steal breaths right under noses.

Her pride will hang low with the earthworms and field mice.

She would have a cheeseburger smile and french fries hair.

She would have milkshake skin and her body will feed starving eyes.

She would hold stardust in her breath and kissing her will be a wish come true.

She would be imperfect pen strokes trying to explain something the mind doesn’t fully understand.

She would be mother and wife and daughter and sister.