Clamming Up

I have a friend who's a mollusk. A hardy clam who has been dropped at last by a seagull onto the rocks below and split wide open. It's painful, for now, of course, being that exposed. But at least you can see the sky from under your broken shell. Better than being sealed so tightly that no seawater, no salty tears, no beauty, no terror, can make its way in. Better to be a little broken, and yet alive.

As for me, I lost my shell years ago. Who knows if I ever really had one. It leaves one a little too raw, too deeply cut by the natural everyday hazards of living in a strong current, on a sharp seabed, I find. Time to start spinning pearl, I say. My aim? To be a translucent clam, with a well-oiled hinge.

N.