How to hardboil a poet

by Christos Polydorou

I am an egg,
if you break me. But
however, my yolk is
xanthos, such a blonde,
enticing kindling of yellow,
so reliable, and adorable,
not to mention
edible. My seas love
me, my love of the
seas, my saffron, my bisque,
how can we use yellow
accusingly? Or even,
deragatorily? In our West,
wild as it pretends to be,
yellow, a colour, symbolises,
the opposite of the qualities
I wish to celebrate in my poem:
bold
brave,
courageous,
inapprehensive,
unafraid,
unfearful,
those are the words
my colour symbolises,
this yellow,
the colour
between green
and orange on the spectrum,
a primary subtractive colour
complementary to blue.

I laid it this egg, for you,
to eat, and be nourished,
and relieved, and happy,
and free, and alone,
and exhilarated. All you
have to do, is the following:

Bring a pot of water to a perfect boil. Covering the pot quickens the process.
Gently, with a spoon, lower the egg I just laid into your pot. Tenderly. The boiling water will do the rest.
Set your timer at five minutes.

Soul search in that interval, but in ways which redeem you, not frustrate you, please. Generally, be kind to yourself in ways that your mind and body and most certainly your closest friends or family members who turn on you cannot always be.

When the timer goes off, gently empty the hot water in your cleared, sterilised sink, and replace with cold water from the tap. Wait a minute, and crack the eggs, against a flat surface, and remove the shells, but keep it for the gold.

You’ll notice the white has hardened, while the yellow has remain runny. Eat, overjoyed, this egg I laid, overjoyed, for you.

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