in the dream,
you were alive again,
looking like you did
at 50, and me, looking
like I did at 25;
and we went shellfishing,
which we rarely had done
together;
and with each scoop
of your fork, you
brought up huge quahogs,
and you cracked them
open, and extracted
from each a pearl;
"but pearls only come
from oysters," I protested,
and you said, giving me
a handful, "son, you
deserve all of these,
and more," and then
you slipped beneath
the waves, leaving me
with a handful of
fortune, and two forks.
October 16, 2011.
Copyright © 2011, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
