They were bright turquoise, as small as 
the foil-covered eggs our mother tucked 
into our Easter baskets each spring.
The nest was between a cluster of rocks,
the branches twisted in a protective embrace.
My sister and I cupped the eggs in our small
hands, awed by the color of oceans we’d never
seen. That night, we told our parents of our
discovery, how we held them warm in our hands.
My mother said the mother bird will smash
the eggs now that they smell of humans. I am
41 when I learn this isn’t true. A featherless
baby bird has fallen from its nest in my potted
plants and I rescued it before my dog could
find it. Before tipping it gently into the nest
I Googled it and learned a bird will return
to its eggs, even if they’ve been fondled
by eager hands. My sister and I went back
the next morning, smashed the eggs 
with rocks so the mother wouldn’t have to.
We didn’t realize the chirping we heard 
was likely her, terrified of us. When we left,
tears streaked our cheeks, yolks stained
the branches bright yellow. 
​​
Courtney LeBlanc is the author of the full length collections Exquisite Bloody, Beating Heart (Riot in Your Throat) and Beautiful & Full of Monsters (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press). She is also the founder and editor-in-chief of Riot in Your Throat, an independent poetry press. She loves nail polish, tattoos, and a soy latte each morning. Read her publications on her blog: www.wordperv.com. Follow her on twitter: @wordperv, and IG: @wordperv79. 
image: anne nygard via unsplash