A fragile robin’s egg lies in my path, unbroken
about forty-five feet below it’s mother’s nest.
Stepping over the unseen fetus, the first rays
of dawn reflected it’s tranquil blue, cooler than
the required mother’s 104 degree feathered belly.
No more than fourteen short days before escape
from that hollow inside to inevitable blue skies.
Then, there must be feedings every fifteen minutes.
Impossible to even contemplate.
Now late for my classroom full of disabled
children, also demanding attention, slowly learning
their way out, I hurry along surprised
to find my palm cradling a tiny blue shell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem