You wave a little life.
The egg is tall.
The bowl is tall.
By god, the world
has grown.
You can be mere
and cupped, early
to the horizon.
You can say
you were an animal,
leading the myth
quietly on.
So adept
at wasting time
we called it
god or love.
The egg was first.
You were second.
Life itself has stood.

Jen Frantz is a college dropout from Ohio. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in Hobart, Denver Quarterly, Fence, and Washington Square Review. She is currently an MFA candidate at the Iowa Writers' Workshop, where she is poetry editor of The Iowa Review.