Egg Tooth

Ears are the eyes on the sides of your head. 
Memory lives here, between these apostrophes. 
As if to predict music, the ear contains a drum.

A musical note calling out for the shape of music. 
For the coin in the slot to unlock the gears. 
For the egg with a horse in it.

Some people are born addicted to sense. 
Some are born infected with silence. 
Poetry is an-ant-ant-anti-antibiotic.

“A horse pill.” 
Yes, there is an actual horse in this pill. 
Imagine it like a fetus pressed to the shell.

The reason there are no unicorns is just that. 
This is the egg tooth. 
And you, what did you pay to enter this world?

Credit

Copyright © 2025 by Benjamin Garcia. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 24, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“I discovered my favorite ars poetica while doom-scrolling Instagram. A post crediting an anonymous fourth grader read: ‘A poem is an egg / with a horse in it.’ It made sense and it made no sense. A poem is an egg—yes. With a horse in it? Also, yes. But looking closer, the lines only grow stranger. Did they mean a little plastic horse from a toy capsule? Or a full grown horse from a gigantic egg? My poem today is inspired by a workshop I led with high school students where we asked: What else can the egg of a poem hold? Where else can we stash a horse?”
—Benjamin Garcia