by Maggie Hallowell

Not enough eggs in the world to keep that woman going.
She eats two in the morning and yolk turns mouth milky.

Her fledgling neck strains as she waits for the sun
to feed her more but it will not acquiesce.

What damage done when she nests behind paned glass
her heartbeat tangled

in sheets and down comforter.
All of her refuses to take flight.

She phone calls to the outside in hopes that the sun
will answer and pour knowledge into her

with tales of migration patterns and orphans
adopted by eggless mothers, but sun only replies

every other Monday between errands at the laundromat,
the dollar store, and the farmer’s market so she leaves

a desperate message – “may I join the murmuration today?
I’ll fly so well with the others, we will share two wings

and mesmerize all the lonely ones below who breathe
separate breaths.”

Maggie Hallowell is the manager of a horticultural therapy garden in Hendersonville, North Carolina. She is new to poetry and looks forward to developing and expanding her writing through Great Smokies Writing classes.

About Yolk—This poem is a fanciful exploration of human loneliness and the deep yearning for connection.

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