Sept 14, 2022
yellow
Jessica Sarlin
before I can even hold a fork
I learn to puncture the yellow orb
with the point of my toast
and release a golden lava flow
even before I learn the startling truth about chickens and eggs
I can taste (feel!) the raw, primordial part
the part that, under the right conditions,
converts the yolk to the fluffy darling on the farm program
diluting, in the process, its powerhouse
near-orange to pale feathers and a beak
even with this intuition, I will still be surprised in health class
by the truth about humans and eggs
I picture an unfathomably small chicken’s egg
in my tubes—teacher says, actually, there are millions
and, suddenly, I can never unlearn
our kinship with the rest of nature
we ALL begin in yellow viscera
we ALL, at some time, become someone’s breakfast
Jessica Sarlin (she/her) is a freelance writer and artist from New Jersey. She loves dark things that are also sweet and vice versa. Her short stories can be found in Door Is a Jar Literary Magazine, Earth: Elemental Cycle Book One (Eerie River Publishing) and The Saturday Evening Post (New Fiction Fridays).