Clam
My oyster is the world, take it
fried not boiled, not fond of
the idea of waste, he said I was
recyclable but he didn’t say ME.
I open, bloom underwater
flush out and drown in waves
swallow salt and cough lungs
full, emptied. Meta-physical
or metaphorical, I see my world
in the hues of a rainbow. Conch
shells of land, shells in hands.
Shells in hair and resting on necks.
Shells from crabs, rimmed with
bits and sprinkles of earth,
volcanic ruins to sedimented mountains
I walk unarmed. Unearthed I am found.
Vortex of elements at the tips of
my fingers, a feeling left untouched
no place remaining solid, I
crunch down, the bite of a clam.
A fresh pearl awaiting inside.
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