Short Order Cook

This morning I cracked open
a backyard egg, freshly laid runny marigold into

a sizzling pan of browned butter.
I perched there, alight at the stovetop

as the whites puttered and popped
into shape, congealed into familiarity.

I wielded my spatula too boldly as I flipped—
the precious sac broke and golden could’ve-been life spilled

over the cast iron and then salt fell, seasoning
to taste in messy drops, spatters of self-worth.

Meanwhile my eight-year-old, helming the toaster,
blinked sleep from those blue eyes of mine

and said too quickly, so gently
don’t worry Mama, I like ’em sunny but hard is good too.

Oh my sweet boy—
today hard is all there is.

L. D’Arcy Blackwell is a poet based in St. Louis, MO. She earned her Bachelor's Degree in French from Lindenwood University and currently works as a community-oriented fitness professional. Her poetry has been published in 7th-Circle Pyrite. She is a queer mother raising humans, cats, and chickens.