Oyster's Lament

You came with your diving knives
to pry her from my flesh.
It seems so long ago
that I took in his grains of sand,
transforming them into something recognizable,
heartbreaking and obstinate.

So you have a pearl
with champagne flesh,
of atomic beaches,
and red suns.

Where women part their sleek black hair,
and entertain Western men like school girls.

You wrapped her in
trappings of gold filigree
and ignored the husk she left,
rent and opened, a pathway
of tunneled scars and bitter tastes.

No one was ready for her,
her amber gaze,
no, you weren't quite ready.
She broke your herring bone ribs.

She might be draped around your neck
and you might be able to capture from her
the sound of the ocean rushing in.
But you can see a bit of oyster in her,
hiding behind histories of radiation.
Just a little clover, caught in her teeth.