With love

Poetry

Hard

Brown egg, twelve for a dollar.

Subtly resistant against a milieu of puncturing

and a briny exterior easily cracked open.

Hit me softly, hit me barely enough.

Against a countertop,

Against the oven.

Falling out like emptying sour wine.

Fried too easily.

Shell against tooth, depending on how you

break me.

If only you looked hard enough,

If only you thought before you turned on the stove,

If only you punctured me in the right places.

Take it only how you like it.

Elizabeth Hsieh