Earlier today, I posted an excerpt from an interview with Haruki Murakami in The Paris Review, where he discusses the influence of hardboiled detective fiction on his work. I thought it would be funny if the subsequent post were a poem about hard boiled eggs (if one existed).

When I Googled “hard boiled egg” poem, lo and behold, I hit the hard boiled egg jackpot. It seems that beaucoup poets have written odes to hard boiled eggs!

In thinking this over, I came to the conclusion that these poets decided they “had” to write about something  — and focused on one of the first things that greeted them in the a.m.: BREAKFAST. Thus, all the paeans to eggs cooked in boiling water.

So I declare January 11th HARD BOILED EGG poetry day at the Silver Birch Press blog and will run some of these lyrical breakfast treats throughout the day.


by Ruth M. (member of a poetry group at this link)

As I peel my egg,
shell adheres
to the clear membrane
in chunks, like ice floes
on the surface of water.
Before I bite
the end, cool and round,
I know the felt-like yolk
will mix with the metallic white,
an aggregate flowing with
grains of pepper and salt
on the riverbed of my tongue.
Every day is a completeness
like this. Conversations
like embryos fresh
and awake for surprise.
Nakedness under a shell.
Nourishment begun
at my mother’s white table cloth
that spreads to the snow
fields around this farm peppered
with thistle crowns and bare
branches emerging from
under the mask of white
that curves around the world.
Illustration: Nguyet Vuong, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED