By | 1 March 2017

This world is hardshelled:
clay sintered and glazed
as meticulous tile and cup
the colours of earth,
each egg’s boundary
neat as a statue’s eyeliner
and the morning light walled
outside by glass
there’s no seeing through.
The wisp of drape is cornered,
the cactus huddles in spines
as it dreams against the window.

Into this strait of ochres
will come, stretching from sleep,
the One for breakfast;
her chosen egg be juggled from its steam,
the waiting cup receive, the spoon connect
and shattering white and sun’s yellow
on quite a different picture.

Based upon Eggs> by Sybil Craig, National Gallery of Victoria

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