Thursday, December 7, 2023


I was the birdling

deep inside the egg

nestled down in mud.


Wind blew against

the misshapen shell—

so ugly and spotted it was beautiful.


Stirring, I set to work—

tip, tap, click, clack—

a bruised spot forming

from the egg tooth

before the gaping hole revealed me.


No song, just sweat and grit,

shell splattered with shit,

but in the midst of it—

ugly and alive and beautiful.



© 2023 Jennifer Wagner




Desperate Poets:  Desperate Voicings (Creative Method)