In the kitchen of my childhood home, I’m grown-up enough to sit
on a chair at the blond maple table. My brother Peter is next to me
in the highchair. When the stove buzzer goes off I call to Mommy’s
back, “My eggy winged.” She smiles hearing my pronouncement
and begins to peel our soft-boiled eggs. Peter’s little legs begin
pumping in anticipation of the “soldiers,” toast cut into sticks for
poking the yolks. I grab a fistful and give him two. “He might choke
if he gets more,” is my rationale while I host a battalion on my lap.
Photo courtesy of Priscilla Martel
The poems under the title A Life in 100 Words is a new manuscript that I have been working on and plan to post when I feel they are at least draft-ready.