Two eggs sit together on a white ceramic plate,
they aren’t quite touching,
but their blobby, oblong almost fingers
reach further and long to fill that space between them.
Perhaps in such a way that they would become one
egg, with two different yellow domes of almost life.

How jealous I was of their conviction,
because as you sit across from me
on this double seated pine wood table,
I wished that I could reach out a tiny finger
to fill up the space that has been building up between us.
A dark space, like the break between two stars,
and has become so much more than
yellow yolk or the words we cannot say.

I took my metal plated fork,
(you said we’d get silver one day)
and poked the fleshy center of the egg,
watching the viscous golden heart leak onto the other.
“Let it all out” I thought.
I looked up to see if you noticed what I did.
But I saw you chop down on a crispy, dry piece of bacon,
while you stared off into space.
You were so lost,
that I knew it would take more than just seeing me
for my words to reach you.

That’s when I knew we were having breakfast on Mars.
Not that I am visiting you from Venus,
where they like to say women are from,
but that we are two aliens trapped on this dry,
aired place. Nothing flowing, nothing giving,
and neither of us could speak Martian.

We sit apart,
perhaps one from the Milky Way, the other Andromeda.
I knew that I would not be able to read or understand
the cryptic, hard alphabet that would come out of your
mouth,
even if you took the chance to form your tongue around
them.
And I knew that you couldn’t write the loops and swirls
that would be my native language.

I took a look around at this cowardly new world,
and thought if all of this red, red scarlet dust
were the words that we couldn’t say,
around us and not between us,
could I pack them into some place small enough
to cause a chemical reaction?

But if I stuffed these bitter particles inside my throat,
forcing myself into the consumption for both of us,
my tiny bang theory would not produce some new habitable
planet for us.
I would force myself inside out,
breaking into a black hole,
with never enough planets to fill me.

I would suck us both into a place we could not escape.
We’d lose ourselves,
making space, time, and yellow acetic light our unwanted
bedfellows.

Can’t you see,
I am craving a super nova,
a forever nova,
and these two eggs will not suffice.


SHELBY WARD


Shelby Ward is senior from Bluefield, Virginia majoring in English. She would like to thank both Dr. Bob Hicok, English, for his guidance for “The Jaded Girl” and Dr. Nikki Giovanni, English, for “Breakfast on Mars.” After graduation Shelby plans on attending graduate school.