OYSTERS

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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