The Egg
The old woman dried an egg
with her working apron
heavy egg the color of ivory
which nobody claims from her
then she looks at the autumn
through the little dormer
and it is like a fine painting
the size of a picture book
nothing is
out of season
and the fragile egg
that she holds in her palm
remains the one thing that is new.
--Jean Follain
from Transparence of the World by Jean Follain, selected and translated by W.S.Merwin, p.63
In Northern Michigan where the sweet peas climb banks by the side of the road, I picked some, and found they went well in my thrift store vase. Happy end of April, and good night!
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