Some days I feel
like an egg, insides
all scrambled by the hectic toss
of my day. I am a humpty
dumpty and I stand
on the brink of  falling if
some small push sends me tumbling,
my fragile body shrinking
from the cold hard floor.

My world feels small
and close, my carton sides
pushing against my pale shell,
the cold condensing on my cheeks like tears,

Some days I feel like I am cracking.

But most days it’s all a dream,
and when I peel my eyes open I find that the
the sunny side is a sunrise,
and I am not breakfast, but in fact a robin,
downy with the first fuzz of spring.