Monday, April 04, 2011


As eggs move down the oviduct
they’re smeared with calcium gel;
before they can be untucked
they will be sealed with shell.
A hermetic, airless nativity:
all birds are born in captivity.

In response to this Morning Porch post.


Dale said...

Hey, it's a poem. It rhymes. Leave me alone.

Kat said...

:) I like it. Sometimes our chickens lay eggs with no shells - but all held together still with that membrane inside that makes your average hard-boiled one easy to peel if you can just get under it right.

Dale said...

Wow, really? I've never heard of that!

Deb said...

xox Love it, I do, this beautiful balanced construct, an egg.

ntexas99 said...

This tiny bit of prose caught my attention, and one of the first reactions I had to it was that if "all birds are born in captivity" then perhaps it's also true that "all humans are born in captivity", although ours is not a thin protective shell, but rather, that we are contained within the constraints of what we can experience or imagine.

I'd like to think that we can break free from this constraint by opening ourselves to an existence without limits, but this brings me back to an image of humans pushing against the binding shell of our understanding of the world; of the universe. We struggle and twist every which way, in an effort to be free.

I'm not usually a poetry person, although, to be honest, when I find one that speaks to me, I'm aggressively appreciative.

Thanks for stretching my brain this morning. Your words opened something that was closed before. Perhaps a speck of recognition has infiltrated my armorous shell.

Dale said...


Thanks Nancy. It's so lovely to see you again!