A fragile robin’s egg lay in my path, unbroken
about forty-five feet below it’s mother’s nest.
Stepping over the unseen fetus, the first
rays of dawn reflected it’s tranquil blue, cooler
than the required mother’s 104 degree feathered belly.
No more than fourteen short days before escape
from that hollow inside to inevitable blue skies.
Then, there must be feedings every fifteen minutes.
Impossible to even contemplate.
Now late for my classroom full of disabled
children, also demanding attention, slowly learning
their way out, I hurry along surprised
to find my palm cradling a tiny blue shell.