Hard Boiled Eggs

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.”

But regardless,

I eat it the same:

bite, reach the yolk,

pull most of it out,

and finish

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…


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