I asked you what you wanted
to eat for dinner
and you said I don’t know
and I said I don’t know either
so we went hungry
until you zombied up
to the refrigerator
with its rows of eggs
perfect in their half-priced
shells like children or ideas
of children bidden
and unbroken
and reaching for one
you dropped it
on your big toe, splattering
the yolk across your toenails,
so I splattered one
on my big toe and we laughed
as I reached for the carton
and we took turns cracking
the eggs into a clear bowl
and used a fork to whisk
the beginnings
of the omelet
and I said that thing
about cracking a few eggs
to make you know what
and if you laughed
I don’t remember
and if I laughed it was over
how flawless in the pan
the omelet looked
like the sun
before I folded it upon itself
and then
for the first time in weeks
with two plates
we ate
in the same room.

—Josh Martin

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