Egg
He opens his mouth,
shows an egg on his rough tongue
like a lizard in the sun,
asks me not to lick,
not to break, not to say,
just lift and carry,
be a companion until it is born,
until its mission is clear,
just love and keep
without judging, without telling
the right time or place,
the best way to be born
or stay when it’s unsafe.
To keep my lips around
a secret that big,
one that blocks my words,
keeps food from home,
dries the throat takes heart,
takes heat, is enough
to crack my face like a dune,
a mountain of rock,
temple struck by lightning
or torn apart. It is a boulder
rolling from the tomb
that seems empty
but changes the world.
Gina M. Tabasso, a Cleveland-area poet with her M.A. in English, has won numerous awards and has been published in Mangrove, The Common Review, Upstairs at Duroc, The MacGuffin, Mid-American Review, Slant, Blue Mesa Review, Pavement Saw, and many others. Gina earns her living as a corporate communications manager for a tire distributor and enjoys riding her horse, belly dancing and spending time with those she loves.