The Fragment Keeper
Trisha Kc Buel Wheeldon
Eglin AFB, FL, USA

She breaks
into screams as I crack
the egg. All she has known is the
whole, white, solid, smooth of a boiled oval.
Now this liquid yolk looks like a lie.

My daughter holds the handle
of a measuring cup full
of shelled peanuts.
Her cup runneth over.
As she leans to pick up
dropped pieces, more scatter.

I know you know the intersecting
texture of a peanut shell,
My Lord and My God,
not only because you created
peanuts. In the garden,
you experienced how I experience
breaking open the nut,
breaking open the egg,
breaking open my belief.

She will not catch all
as they fall from the cup.
I must hold it away for a moment.
We gather together.

You Are My Arms by Joumana Borderie

This poem is part of our The Psalms of Women series.