Spring equinox came and went.
I didn’t stand an egg on end
to celebrate its arrival,
felt no need to perform

this symbolic exercise of renewal
to assure myself that spring
had, in fact, arrived, but as I chose
an egg from the carton for breakfast,

I wondered. Would this misshapen sphere
have rewarded me if I had woken,
yawning my way through the last
few moments of winter?

Perhaps I might have watched it defy gravity,
rise on its fat, round bottom to mark
that elusive moment when everything,
even my breath, was held in awe.

Sharon Anderson has been published in many international and local anthologies,
has been nominated for a Pushcart prize, and has four publications of her own poetry.
She serves on the advisory boards of the Nassau County Poet Laureate Society, and
the Bards Initiative.