Lynn Pattison
All that I have I carry

in an egg shell
my story in miniature: threads, tiny gears
of clockwork, onion skin, paper glued to twigs

I blew the yolk out
through a pinprick and used my uncle’s
dental instruments, needle-nose pliers

from the junk drawer
to angle in details bit by bit
like a scene in a sugared Easter Egg

maps, broken cello strings,
bones, fennel seed wrapped
in linen and the road I kept to

you’d be surprised how
it grows heavy in my pocket
how sometimes it gives off light