the sun is very small like an egg yolk and i am trapped inside it but i can send letters made of arrows that shower down on earth so if you see her tell her not to worry and that i remembered to turn off the stove after i made some eggs and if you see her tell her i broke every single yolk even though i’ve been practicing flipping eggs for years because my dad made them the best in the days that i called them dippy instead of over easy and nothing is ever really over quite that easily

is it

is it

is it

and if you see her tell her i leave the dishes in the sink longer than i should so i end up throwing them out or smashing them against the wall because i like finding

no i like counting

shards of glass in my feet weeks later five six seven eight there are hands i’d rather not take but that’s for another day another life so if you see her tell her that if eggshells weren’t so fragile i’d make bones out of them cuz i’ve got shin splints from running through all the timelines of my life and if you see her tell her that i still put egg whites on my face to pull my skin back cuz sometimes my human skin starts to

droop

and the unsavory parts start to show man she’ll get a kick out of that out of the notion that people never really change they just distract and if you see her tell her that i’ve been sleeping on the floor every night hoping that i fall through but my vertebrae have begun to betray me what i mean is my c3 masquerades as my c7 and my t5 thinks it can hold up my skull so i wind up folding in on myself like a shivering dog trying to keep warm

and

if you see her tell her the sun isn't so hot after all in fact it's as if someone turned the burner off ages ago and decided to make a tv dinner instead

Mac Crane is a lesbian fiction writer and poet. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Pidgeonholes, Pigeon Pages, Jellyfish Review, Pithead Chapel, Hobart, Cotton Xenomorph, Okay Donkey, and elsewhere. They currently live in San Diego with their wife.