Glistening and almost a pure white
are six hard boiled eggs in a bowl,
two on top of each other
for my family-
unlike the multiples
piled into a large metal tray
to be eaten by hungry students.
The ones in front of me
are already peeled by my mother;
but an eighteen hour drive away,
they were unpeeled.
“You’re on your own,” they seemed to say,
“Peel it yourself, college kid.”
I eat it the same:
bite, reach the yolk,
pull most of it out,
leaving crumbly bits of golden protein
on be it a white place rimmed in painted leaves
or a rainbow splotched plate, used by hundreds.
Getting an early start to my creative process today, aha~ Not complaining, though, because I now I’ve already accomplished something. It was weird, though, because when my mom said she had hard boiled eggs it immediately made me think of Iowa because I loved the hard boiled eggs there because they were still warm and perfect to start a day.
Interesting, eh, how something simple can trigger memories…