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