DSCF5353I want to carefully carry with me—
This basket
Of precious eggs.
Every one has its own space
In my heart.
But sometimes
I worry
That my attention
Will slip,
I won’t give each
The time it deserves
To turn and caress
And be mindful of,
That I will jostle the basket
And let one slip.
I want to swaddle them
With soft grass and feathers,
Turn them in the direction of the sun,
Breathe love and understanding
Into their souls.
Hover over them,
Keep them safe.
But like the hen
Who leaves the nest
To stretch her legs
And scratch for worms,
Knowing there is always
The possibility of the sneaking weasel,
I too must learn to let go.



  1. cuervo

    Your poetry has significant relevance, thank you…
    As a caregiver to (63!) chickens, I carry the basket every evening in the same manner as you describe, I wake instantly at night to the slightest commotion from the direction of the coop.
    40 are new little chicks, half down and fluff, a strong wind could scatter them. I check and double check each night for the slightest crack some lithe predator could slip through, then lie down to put them in the light and let go for another night.

      1. cuervo

        Didn’t know what your ‘job’ was, but was able to read between the lines a bit… I’ve never had children yet I get a feel for it once in awhile… all will be well.

  2. kikirosner

    Ah! The vagaries of parenting! You stretch your legs and they learn to live on their own! There is great promise in letting go….

  3. jackrichiedei

    Do we really ever let go? From the cough in the night,the storm door closing,the slamming of the car door at 1am on a friday night,to the weekly e-mail from the dorm,and the call saying that the grangkids are fine, we all worry about our eggs. But hey,maybe that’s why nature puts a “shell” around them. Thanks for making me think,as usual.


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