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Two Eggs
On the last day of my arrival
It was cold out, frigid
The Bronx air made tears roll down
Wind would cusp my wishes
Snow lined the streets
Procession marched just last week

An empty apartment before me
Decades of nothing now gone
Everything once was so magnificent
So real, so vivid, so warm,
Like a fireplace behind the hearth

No one to phone, 
To check the status, to bring in the new
Or to alarm about early disembarkment
No one to slip five, no one to eat lunch
No one to wave goodbye, no one to sleep

Alone with no one
No father, no sister
I reach for the door one last time
I see two hard-boiled eggs in the refrigerator door

 2009 David Greg Harth