The Half Shell Floats on
Its Yellow Yolk
Lois Harrod
In the middle of a night
more like an iron skillet than a watch
the egg cracks.
You do not know
where you are or how you came.
The half shells float on their double yolks.
For two hours you cannot remember
anything I say.
Later the doctor calls it an episode,
transient ischemic attack, TIA.
Tests show nothing,
your heart healthy as a hearse,
the king reprieved.
When I tell a colleague
she says last night she also woke suddenly,
what was it?
She thought firecracker, she thought stroke.
I thought white . . . separated from yolk.
