She smiles at me,
there’s not much we can do
it was an accident.
They lie scattered in pieces across the grass,
yolk seeping from them
into the hungry ground
Robin’s eggs are fragile,
they break easily,
I look up at the tree above,
the mother sits, looking at me,
her breasts rising and falling.
She had watched me hold her children
in my small, pudgy hands
and she had watched me squeeze too hard,
the yolk dribbling from my fingers.
I look at my mother,
let’s go home.