Break Through
Soft and warm an embryo rests
Safe from the world in a tiny nest
No fear, no pain, no disease, no light
Comfortable in an endless night
Until disturbed by a distant glow
A squeezing tightening invisible foe
Home feels like a prison cell
Sanctuary turned to hell
A crack in the shell admits more light
Blinding the child, confused with fright
The shell shatters at his touch
"How could my life have changed so much?"
A deep sigh and the shell falls away
The child's first glimpse of the light of day
Wings he strengthened in the night
Flutter now, prepare for flight
Background:
When I was growing up, there was one ornament that we all loved the most and wanted to hang on the tree. It was made by my mom. She died when I was 7, Christine was 5, and Renee was 15 months old. Mom had carefully blown the yolk out of an egg, which in itself was impressive to us. The eggshell is covered with silver glitter and inside is a tiny baby Jesus wrapped in cotton. Because it was Mom's, because it was Jesus, and because it was fragile, it was an honor to be entrusted with it.
This egg was on my mind a lot the year I wrote this poem (1999). I hold a 30 year old eggshell in my hands preserved by love, tenderness, and Elmers glue. Our lives, relationships, dreams, and illusions are all fragile, some are comforting. Some are worth sticking a little glue and glitter on and keeping around, and some need to be crushed and broken so we can literally be born again to the "next greatest version of the grandest vision you ever had about yourself." (-Neale Donald Walsch, Conversations With God)
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