Robin Eggs

Over two months since my loved one left 

to fight in a dangerous war, 

our robin laid her eggs. 

 Tiny, innocent babes 

           warmed by the rays of aurorean sunrise 

as it caresses their armored shells. 

 

 

The sight made me feel warm again 

        even walking around our silent 

  home, an empty nest 

awaiting your glorious return. 

I hope you’ll be back soon. 

 

Excitement kept me at the window, 

 peeking over our sparkling lawn. 

It’s overgrown now, wild and messy. 

      But none of that matters when I see you pull in 

   an antique smile on your tanned face. 

You smell the same. 

I can’t wait to show you the robinettes. 

 

 

     They never hatch. 

Countless suns wrap around them, 

        yet they remain still. 

I shiver as I close the navy curtains, 

enveloping myself in silence once again. 

        I feel like I’ve lost something. 

 

Your touch comes through glass. 

     The stillness is broken by crackles 

of anger echoing through the house, 

      an invisible mine field, 

a lit fuse awaiting to burst or die out. 

What happened out there? 

 

 

Today, I decided to peek through the curtains, 

    a horrific, ghostly mistake. 

The shells are broken 

by what I don’t know— 

     dead robin carcasses splayed over the nest. 

Peace was just a breath before the next onslaught. 

 

     The war came back with you 

and it beat you until you became an empty shell. 

The house is eerily silent now, 

filled with my quiet cries and buried memories. 

The sky is snowlike today 

and all I feel is numb. 

 

Years later, the taps still echo 

    in my mind, a constant reminder 

of strength and loss, courage and pain. 

        I love you all the more for it 

    and the new robinettes that hatched do, too. 

Their chirps can be heard from our rooftop 

and the sun continues to rise and warm the world.