The seachick inside this egg
has been long dead, decaying
under the shell.
He's haunting me
for I was to be
his mother, and digger of
his grave.
under the shell.
He's haunting me
for I was to be
his mother, and digger of
his grave.
He's been long dead, yet I
can't seem to find
his resting place.
I hide him from the light of day,
I hide him well.
But never well enough that I
forget
that he's still there.
He flies, and dives
as seabirds do
looking for me to
bury him
where he can hear the waves.
I'm standing by the sea, yet I
can't seem to find the place.
I hide him from the carrion birds.
I hope nobody ever tells
I once gave birth
to a rotten egg.
