I Am the Egg Woman (ii)

The satisfying
thwack
of spoon
on eggshell

make it crack
peel away
the top

reveal the
white mound
ready for

scooping.
Spoon poised
then it goes in

like predator
with prey
struck helpless
and dumb

(Hannibal
Lecter
with one of
his victims)

dip into
the swimming yolk
not quite solid
yellow-edged
raw lava centre
relished on tongue
mmmmmmm

pure protein power
for pint-sized
proportions

I carefully
scrape out
and consume
every last remain

as if I’m eating
a tiny brain.

I admire
the hollow shell

somehow
still perfect
in its emptiness.

Tapering
ovoid
contains
the void.

What more
beatific form
exists
than this?

Nothing.

Nothing
whatsoever.

_{^{© N Nazir 2022}}

_{^{© N Nazir 2022}}

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