Here hangs poor shell-less Egg Heart,
vulnerable and fragile,
newborn,
supported only by her membrane
just above her shattered, yet familiar
prison shell,
disassembled in chaos below.
She waits for new forms,
not like shells or prisons,
seeking them, sometimes
in the wrong places,
such as in the soft, dark eyes
of pretend lovers and friends.
Poor silly Egg Heart!
She shocked her own shell open!
Now she shivers out
her skinless days alone —
sucking her seeds back up
into dry shriveled memories
of soft, warm times
before shells
and prisons.
Jo Scotford Rice moved to Martha’s Vineyard with her family during the winter of 1965. She kept a daily journal and first wrote poetry at age 10. She died Christmas day 2013.
