I bring eggs from the farm
in brown paper bag,
no protection at all.
Free range they're stuck 
with fluff feathers.

Pale as thick cream, so tiny.
My palm reaches to stroke
newborn curves.
Thin strongboxes
cradle ripening treasure.

With sharp taps of spoons
my wee ones scoop past
membranes to silky whites 
sun bright yolks.
Bantie gifts.

Published in Atrium  Spring  2020