Demetria Martinez
Elena warms a brown egg
Between her palms, close to her lips,
Cold from a carton,
Chosen from the dozen.
It is the center now of a sphere
Of kitchen towels in a drawer
Next to an Amish cookbook,
Next to the oven's white side.
For three weeks at 3:15
Elena will breathe on that egg
Held between her lifelines
Against her grape-stained lips,
She anticipates the birth
Although brown eggs, her mother says,
Can't hatch.
But at 5, Elena
Has a good ear for heartbeats,
Sidewalk cracks cry
When her tennis shoe touches them,
The lave chips that embroider
The yard have names,
And a brown egg is throbbing
In the cup of her hand.
From Claiming The Spirit Within Edited by Marilyn Sewell copyright 1992
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