by cheri block
I hard-boiled a dozen eggs on Tuesday.
One broke when I dropped it into the pot, leaving eleven. The water bubbled steadily, changing their nature from fragile to hearty and tearful to solid. Maybe I should take a hot bath too, I thought.
I showered them with cold water and left them to cool in a small silvery colander.
Eleven lovely little dollops of protein I placed side by side in a plastic container. They rolled over a bit, still slick from their hot baths but firm with conviction.
The Judge came home from work, A Long Day’s Journey into More of the Day. He hadn’t eaten dinner.
The next afternoon, we both ended up in the same kitchen.
I do my best to guard my nest, but somehow, one egg was gone.
I didn’t notice.
“Oh, one is missing!” he teased.
The scrub brush continued its assault on a coffee pot.
Later that day, while at yoga in Pigeon Pose, the substance of the conversation returned to me in a scrambled message.
Pay attention to the details of life.