Lines for Josh, for Valerie

No more eggshells, you said,

as if anyone would understand.

There was no time to ask, but Harold thinks you meant

the separation that was there all along,

possibly your scientist’s way of describing

the outer limits of the self,

the shell we are all born with

though we emerge from eggs--

not exactly a wall, more like a membrane or a skin

or the invisible force that holds us each in solitude

despite the longing to be close,

perhaps something that was meant all along

to be broken,

hard as it was, resistant

and in its own way beautiful to behold--

that outer edge, delicate and strong;

and perhaps what you meant was that you

had felt that shell give way,

the lines between self and other finally blurring,

allowing in love, allowing you out.

Magda Bogin

(Read at Josh's memorial service at the Harvard Club)