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I read about bivalves
to distract myself,
hurt so hot I can’t fathom
what would happen
if I touch it—
wish I had two shells
to protect my soft inside,
ancestors who survived
500 million years
and can remove pollutants
from water.
At first I thought
oysters advised:
ignore it, wall it off. But
oysters don’t ignore
the “irritant,” they tend to it,
letting it shimmer.
It becomes a thing so desired
humans pry the shell,
tear it from inside.
Copyright 2023 Emily Suzanne Carlson

Emily Suzanne Carlson’s Why Misread a Cloud was selected by Kimiko Hahn as the winner of the Sunken Garden Chapbook Award. Carlson lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

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This is a gorgeous way to explore this metaphor, to meet the hot self and let it learn. Such pain and such beauty woven together here.
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I agree, Rosemerry. A profound sustained metaphor…
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So much said in so few beautiful words. The oyster torn to release the hurt made beautiful, hidden.
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Good poem.
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