Sunday, March 11, 2012


A scallop shell, pale blue, rests
underwater, shifting and shimmering
in the urinal: as its sea-chamber
warms and yellows, it darkens,
yearning to understand, maybe, or

hungering for light. Does its heart
climb the thin thread of wet warmth
reaching down to it? It was held
within the mind of some designer,
lives faintly in some portfolio,

but this intimacy
is all out of proportion. I and thou,
O wavering scallop! Tied by fates
that neither can control. The last kiss
of epthelial lips, one last

springing leap for the waters
collected from chipped coffee cup,
from the steel nightstand glass,
from a dozen unsuspected unsuspecting places,
and here to join a greater way,

but first, this swirling embrace,
in a little porcelain foyer, in
a little room in a restaurant,
a tiny resting place that no one
and everyone calls home.


Zhoen said...

That's a wicked pissah.

marly youmans said...

Proof that one can write a poem about anything. Trying to think what my oddest subject was--maybe Pokemon? A child waking up with a dream that his sister had turned into a Goldene (sp?) and jumped into the sea and vanished...

Anonymous said...

What is a goldene, Marly? :)

Seon Joon said...

Wow. This was fabulous. I loved how you drew the scene for us, instead of telling anything--I know, I know, the old school of thought is "show, don't tell," but still. I've not often seen it applied in so wonderful, so whimsical and so earthy, a fashion.