Eggshells poem

2024

First draft version

april 12 th 2020.

Our shared kitchen

The four of us

My cold feet on your dog s back, on Bebop.

Coffe,

Fried eggs for breakfast.

The world outside is shaking.

I have been eating those eggs since april 12 th 2020

It is a relationship that was born from the moment

of understanding that those shells

that I broke in my hand on the plate that morning,

I could not rebuild them as they were.

Two halves that I had opened.

It is a response to the ephemeral,

to what slips through my hands,

to my action of crushing the shells

for the pleasure of feeling the peculiarly sharp and short sound

of the collapse in my hands

an instant.

--

to dissolve

–

The shells

one by one

breaking apart under my will

The shells are overflowing

because I wanted to feel that glassy texture.

The metallic friction

My relationship with the remains,

with the leftovers, with what is left behind,

The inert surface of the plate picked up from the street a year ago,

The warm hand firmly slaps the shells on the plate.

The sound is multiplied.

Metal spread between shells and plates, my teeth grind.

The previous relationship left a mark, a stamp.

A date,

An imprint

Codes

Who put those numbers on the shells?

What is that person's name?

Does the person have children?

Does it like winter?

Who left those marks on my breakfast?

The irreversible consequences of my action put on the table

The irreversible consequences of your action.

The fragility of some relationships

impotence of not being able to make up

for what has already been done.

to test the resistance of our relationship

and prove what was already known:

this action cannot be undone

what is done is done.

Sometimes it is not enough to repent

Who filled these shells with holes?

These shells filled with holes

How to mend these little pieces?

Who dared?

Who sewed them with needle but without thread?

Drill without mending

The needle is embedded in already broken scraps. 

What the hell is that needle for?

Try to repair what is already broken.

Take out of the organic garbage,

some of my breakfast

crush it

Clinging to it

Obsessing over the multiplied sound

echoing in space

over and over again

metallic eggshells resound and echo like bells in an empty church and replicate like bells in an empty church in the corner of our glass tablecreak to a shudder creak squeak a rusty dooran overwhelming sounduntil we hear the howl of bebop, your dogor better the yelp yelp yelp howl Putting on the beige heels that Charlotte lent me at the entrance of the doorPut the shells on the floor To drop my heel on the surfaceUntil I capture the precise moment when the shell can no longer resist the heeland hear the moment of the break

obsessing about the creakingWanting the whole space to creak the walls to make the walls crumbleand the squeaky doorthe eggshellsthe clocks no longer have those metallic hands let the tectonic plates be removedand feel the metal of that sound!when an egg crackles,the magnetic poles of the earth,calibrate and produce a soundthat only dogs can hearand my plants It is pleasurethe memory of the sound of calcium infiltrating my mouth, The friction of calcium rubbing on my teeth,a little metallic,glass in my mouth.Sucking on the crusts

The vibration of a stormLet everything move!The creaking of the bed Sparkles and glitters of eggshellsburst in spacemetallic and glassy flying through spaceinvading everythinga giant concert where the band are the eggshells and the instrumentsand the instruments, toocharlotte and you are going to crush them with your hands and feet.A full stadiumA multiplied sound crunching in a stadium The stadium resounds:Eggshells!