Sunday, April 09, 2006
My heart is an egg
Instead of a heart, I was given an egg. Every time I bump up against something, the shell cracks, and yolk spills into my veins. (Maybe on some days I look slightly jaundiced.) I used to think it was the nature of what I bumped against--what was outside of me-- but now I don't think so. It's just me. My egg is in my basket, and now I know I need to carry myself gently.