Tasha Coryellâ€™s â€œMarianne Breaks All Her Babiesâ€¨â€
Marianne meets a boy at a bar and sleeps at his house. While he is sleeping, she opens his cupboards and takes out all of his food. He doesnâ€™t have much. Two sticks of butter, some shredded cheese. Eggs expired for weeks. A bag of chips with a hair tie wrapped around it like a calling card, blonde strands still entwined with the elastic. There are several bottles of Gatorade in the refrigerator. Marianne understands science the way that the Gatorade scientists do: anything can be proven to be good for you. She drinks an orange bottle of Gatorade, then a blue bottle of Gatorade, and then a white bottle of Gatorade. She took a painting class as a child and the only thing she learned was that when everything is mixed together it turns brown. Marianne eats the chips. They taste better than any chips she has ever purchased. The joy of other peopleâ€™s food. She throws the eggs at the walls. For something unfertilized they carry so much stench.
There are insecurities surrounding the yolk. We all started as this, a ball of yellow. Everything else becomes a downgrade from there. What is a chicken to the gold inside a shell? Eggs as metaphorical baby. If you crack the egg ______________. To be vengeful one can break the baby. To be even more vengeful, one can throw hard enough to puncture the sun. But you cannot say you are not like this: an egg, something crackable. You cannot say that when your body is thrown up against the wall that your shell does not crack and that what comes out does not smell. Your body can melt paint. Your body as anger on the wall. When you sweat you become salty. Sunny side up.