having pulled the egg carton out of the
fridge, I stand anchored with both hands
on the counter trying to remember why

certain only that one egg will not be
enough for whatever I had planned –
one of anything is rarely enough

to sustain a thing but more than enough
to end it – one slip of the tongue, one turn
of the knife, one false step

strange, how the carton resembles a row
of miniature cardboard camels concealed
and Illuminated under a distant full moon

I am standing in a nightgown and bare feet
having traversed a desert from one room to
another with only the moonlight and shadows

to guide my way and no recollection
of making the journey – only the light
playing on this egg and darkness pooling

in the hollow cups offer any clues –
the closer I approach the edges of my life
the more I feel the empty spaces

wandering in places where shadows carry weight,
my thoughts flounder, shapeless and gray,
and I wait for anything to light the way out

staring at the one egg left in an otherwise
abandoned carton, trying to remember why
I pulled the eggs out of the fridge

I feel him gathering me up in his arms, while
the warmth of his sigh settles around my face,
I breathe in his notion of me – remembering

my shape between his arms and chest,
wondering – where will I go when
I can no longer find my way home

# # #

Lianne Kamp lives in the Boston area. Her work has appeared in a number of literary journals and online publications including Poetry Quarterly, Tuck Magazine, Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, Poets Reading the News, Scarlet Leaf Review, and elsewhere.

Photo: Jordan