Dreaming of eggs

 

Last night

a flying serpent,

full bellied,

flapping its fearsome wings

came hurtling towards me.

Next, two eggs appeared

neither white nor brown

but some strange in-between colour,

the grey my father once declared

did not exist.

Landing,

the eggs settled side by side

and sat staring out at me.

They seemed so perfect,

so delicious

though neither had yet been cracked,

so it wasn’t clear

whether the yolks would

be good or putrid.

Long ago

in my crazy days

I used to call eggs abortions

which did not go down well

at our breakfast table.

Now I think that maybe,

if I sit long enough on these,

something might stir.

Take flight

CECILY BOMBERG