The Topic At Hand: How Do You Like Your Eggs?

Jonathan and Patrick returned from Paris to this note:
We found your chicken one block over
and put her back in your yard.

And there she was brooding in the thick weeds
of their fenced-in yard, warming three eggs,
lonely, but somewhat at home.

The thing is, they didn’t own a chicken,
yet something about their country-style home
suggested to their neighbors a hen house in the garage.

Jon told me the story over drinks
twelve years after college, after
we had wrapped ourselves

in opposite coasts. It’s funny
what comes to mind after so much silence—
the big news is told quickly

but the everyday—dogs almost bought,
books half read—didn’t surface on the lonely
pond of my mind. The talk jumped back,

mostly, to the last day
we were together. The day, actually,
that he and Patrick met.

And when I said
I must be the last girl Jon kissed,
there were lots of silverware sounds

and reaching for wine. Patrick
seemed to be hearing something
for the first time. Years ago,

I wanted to grab Jon and climb,
a sweet-eyed boy with hands like clouds.
Now, I just want to spend some time

in a life like his. Paris six months a year,
the love of a man whose face tells everything,
and a place for a chicken they don’t know,

who, nonetheless, stays.

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3 responses to “Brooding”

  1. georgia williams says:

    wow. I have not read such a wonderful poem in a long,long time. Beautiful, soft and telling, and takes you along. Wow.

  2. The best part of this is the way that the resolution is saved, not just for the last line, but for the very last word, the last syllable. The poem is over at the exact moment that it all comes together. Beautifully crafted.

  3. Elizabeth says:


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The Author

Amy Meckler

Amy Meckler received her MFA in creative writing from Hunter College, where she garnered the Academy of American Poets Award, among other honors. Her poems have appeared widely in literary journals and anthologies. Her first collection, What All the Sleeping Is For, won the 2002 Defined Providence Press Poetry Book Award and was published that year. She works in New York City as a Sign Language interpreter. Amy also blogs at You Have Spinach In Your Teeth. She is also the Poetry Editor for Revolving Floor. See all of Amy's Revolving Floor contributions.

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