Egg

By Linda Pastan

In this kingdom

the sun never sets;

under the pale oval

of the sky

there seems no way in

or out,

and though there is a sea here

there is no tide.

For the egg itself

is a moon

glowing faintly

in the galaxy of the barn,

safe but for the spoon's

ominous thunder,

the first delicate crack

of lightning.

Copyright Credit: Linda Pastan, “Egg” from Poetry vol. 129, no. 4, January 1977.

Source: Poetry (January 1977)