Oysters poem image by Veronica Kornberg


Waves and wind. Sea lather

jiggling among rocks or flung

to clear the cliffs and catch

on cypress limbs. The mind

swims slowly in its shell:


memories of last year

your chest sawn open,

the light pulled to a pinprick.

We are like oysters

the doctor said


our bodies layer a husk

around every point of irritation.

You have worried the grains

to a sunken treasure of pink

pearls where the knife entered,


veins fished from your leg,

the ribcage wired shut.

Remember now: summer 

butter lupine, now: the sun,

coral nub plunging beneath fog.

Published in Valparaiso Poetry Review

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