Skip to content
Menu

Poetry

The scrambled eggs, already fried and fragrant
on a plate, slip back into their shells;
each smooth white egg sails toward its vagrant
mother chicken, roosts in a fertile cell.

The melody beats back to eighth notes
which settle, dark spots on the snowy staff
of bass and treble clefs, then briefly float
through Bach’s wine-stained shirt into his laugh.

The house remembers when it was imagined.
The nails and bolts that hold the walls in place
fly back to hardware bins. The rafters, stunned,
revert to drawings and desire.
                                                   So, geese,
who honked across this troubled sky last fall,
welcome back! This chance to undo it all.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Related Poetry

Ode to the Buffman Brothers

By

Fleda Brown

The Depths of August

By

Eric Pankey

close up image of the back of a father and his child's head. the child has very fuzzy hair.

Border Report

By

Lia Purpura

The Window

By

Melanie Rae Thon

Welcome to Image. 

We curate content just for you. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter ImageUpdate for free.


Pin It on Pinterest