Line Twenty-Nine -- My Line, with Much Fear and Trembling

Oh, what to do, what to do?  My daughter, the same child who suggested the line "Suddenly, Ninjas!" when it was time for my line in the 2012 Progressive Poem, has been saying all along that I should take this one in a T.S. Eliot direction.  Something like, "These fragments have I shored against my ruins."  She also said maybe the eggs could hatch out an elephant-bird, like in Horton Hatches the Egg. 

I need to continue the conversation between the persona and the boy, I need to do something about the eggs, I'd like to go back to the airing out of feelings and peacock-imitating and freedom from rune-prognostications in the first few lines (something about how I chose this path, all alone, with no birds and beasts to guide me), I need to avoid starting some whole other thread that poor Tara will hate me for in the morning...

I am at a loss to know what to do with the three blue eggs.  If chicks hatch out, they must be fed and cared for, and I am at my campfire with no means to do that.  If I cook them, you will worry about salmonella, since these eggs have not been refrigerated and I have been clutching them to my chest for days.  (We don't refrigerate the eggs that come from our hens, but we also don't hike for days holding them.)  But then I thought, the merry hen talked.  The merry hen said to use the eggs to charm the host.  This is a magic world.  Get over practicality!  Think about the tattered maps, the dreams, the inner sage!  What would Irene do?

The fact is, we're almost out of poem.  There's no time to find another host, no time to reflect on those warnings in the rune, no time to make it all the way to the ocean in search, perhaps, of jellyfish.  I had to decide what to do.  I sat on the rock and emoted for a while, and then I decided.  I hope I didn't make a big mistake.



Three Blue Eggs
Sitting on a rock, airing out my feelings to the universe
Acting like a peacock, only making matters that much worse;

Should I trumpet like an elephant emoting to the moon
Or just ignore the warnings written in the rune?

Those stars can’t seal my future; it’s not inscribed in stone.
The possibilities are endless! Who could have known?

Gathering courage, spiral like an eagle after prey,
Then gird my wings for whirlwind gales in realms far, far away.

But, hold it! Let’s get practical! What’s needed before I go?
Time to be tactical—I’ll ask my friends what I should stow.

And in one breath, a honeyed word whispered low—dreams—
Whose voice? I turned to see. I was shocked. Irene’s!

“Each voyage starts with tattered maps; your dreams dance on this page.
Determine these dreams—then breathe them! Engage your inner sage.”

The merry hen said, “Take my sapphire eggs to charm your host.”
I tuck them close—still warm—then take my first step toward the coast.

This journey will not make me rich, and yet I long to be
Like luminescent jellyfish, awash in mystery.

I turn and whisper, “Won’t you come?” to all the beasts and birds
And listen while they scamper, their answers winging words:

“Take these steps alone to start; each journey is an art.
You are your own best company. Now it’s time to depart!”

I blow a kiss. I hike for days, blue eggs pressed to my chest.
One evening’s rest, campfire low, shifting shadows brought a guest.

A boy, with hair in wild waves and eyes blue as the sea,
Says, “You’ve traveled far. What did you find—your best discovery?”

“I found a bird, I found a song, I found a word,” I say.
The hidden eggs, I make them known. “I’ve brought these on the way.”

We share an omelet and some talk; is my quest at an end?