A Pedestal of Abalone Shell



I am posting a poem I wrote several years ago. This one actually got picked up by a literary quarterly called Appalachian Heritage. It even won some kind of annually awarded prize (though sadly, the prize was not loads of cash).



Mollusk

The smell of you in a darkened room is of
oysterless shells picked today from beach;
deep healthy soil;
a field in rain.
My palm on your vulnerable abdomen
sticks slightly and I reel,
so gone
my tongue must press briefly to your shoulder
that I may see if you are salty
as the perfect olives I have in past eaten
and you are all that I relish with taste of crushed pearl.