I’m in a warm, dark, small shell, growing for days.
Today I hatch.
I’ll use my beak.

Peck-peck-peck.

I crack the egg.
Brightness troubles my eyes.
Coldness takes over my body.

Peck-peck-peck.

I squeeze my head out
I am watched. I try to call out.
I try to get out.

Peck-peck-peck.

I fall onto a cold surface.
“Mom, mom, mom, mom,” I call out.
I’m happy to meet her.

Wobble-wobble-wobble.

I waddle to my mother,
open my mouth and
wait for the fish.

Wobble-wobble-wobble.

My feet are happy.
I call out,
looking for friends.

Wobble-wobble-wobble.
I am older.
Fishing for my young.
Swimming away from vicious seals.

Paddle-paddle-paddle.

I made it to shore,
sliding on snow to my chicks
happy to see them. And that’s when I hear them.

Peck-peck-peck.

They’re hatching.
Struggling to get out.
Each falls out.

Peck-peck-peck.

Each chick calls out.
They’re happy.
I’m happy.