Heavy hands and heavy hearts

The morning sun looks like egg yolk
And I am reminded of when my father
Took my sisters and I to the local feed store
To get chicks
On the way home in my father’s blue truck, that wasn’t the color of the sky
With the black bed, that was too rusty to be the color of night,
He explained to us
Chicks do not mean chicken nuggets
And that we would have to take care of our new pets
We tried our best but the chicks did not live long
We found the last chick laying limp, dead
In the mouth of Sable, our shih tzu
That was when I learned about death
And how quick it is to steal life away

The morning sun looks like egg yolk
Remind me of the mornings when my father cooked breakfast
He could only scramble eggs, but claimed he could fry chicken
We were never treated to that,
And I guess that answers the question
Which came first the chicken or the egg
I ate eggs till they made me sick
And I couldn’t eat them anymore
My dad still cooks eggs
But I just sit to the side, unable to dig in