Crack

I crack something on purpose.
A clean break.
A small violence that becomes breakfast.
 
Shell splits.
Membrane gives.
The bowl takes it like it’s seen worse.
 
Pan takes heat.
Oil loosens.
That first hiss, sharp and ordinary.
 
My hands do the part they know.
Wrist. Tilt. Slide.
Spatula under edge.
Scrape.
Turn.
 
Salt wants fingers.
Fingers show up.
 
The kitchen smells like morning
even when I don’t.
 
I eat.
Plate goes empty.
That’s the whole scene.

(2015, © Julia Delaney)

morning

Be Alive 🌱
Love ❤️, Julia

Rhyme & Reason

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