To separate yolk from white
My mother used half the shell
Like a little cup.

Sometimes she used a device
That safely nestled the yolk
While the white overflowed
Into bottomless crevasses
And ultimately into a waiting receptacle

I’ve seen chefs use their hands
Catching the egg contents
And sifting them between their fingers —
Gently —
Never breaking a yolk
As is my wont.

I rather think that God uses the hand method
Sifting body and spirit at the moment of death
In His mighty hand
So that one overflows to the waiting earth —
ashes to ashes
dust to dust —
And the other ascends

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