Mother Egg—Split in Two Parts

I slipped from the womb
like a shucked pea
from its pod—the green nest
split down the middle—

inside, sweet-tasting peas
lined up in a row,
delicate as a newborn's toes
and fingers, ripened perfectly

in mother's full belly.
The fertilized egg split
in two halves—from Father,
from Mother—a blueprint

for the future, to be divided
again: half to my son,
half to my daughter.

Then again, to my granddaughter,
the mother egg constantly
splitting into the next
set of perfect fingers,
tiny toes, peas all lined up

in a peapod, ready
to grow into this miracle,
the blessing of each life
as it emerges, surfaces,
draws breath as soul enters.

And, what do we know?
The night is long.
The day is short.
Shout for joy! Hello!

Copyright by Carolyn Zonailo: www.carolynzonailo.com, 2009