buried under the dunes

i opened the refrigerator last night and found dozens of empty eggshells. the eggshells were piled in loose pyramids, monuments to chickens i'd never met and dishes someone else had cooked. for a moment i stood there, not thinking of the energy pouring from the chilled shelves or the whirring of the machine. i just thought of my own life, unready to be cracked open and poured into a skillet.