Shell
Somewhere at the end -- and this is what woke me -- a metallic sea-shell. Small as curled fingers and curled like that, blured and pocked by the sea, intricate worm casings -- it is pewter and heavy. More heavy even than lead -- what is it? What was I dreaming about? But the shell -- I can't bear to hold it, it's electric, my whole self is chewing tinfoil -- but I keep holding it. Even knowing, I pick it up. What was I dreaming about? Even in the dream I can't remember.
I come towards the shallows of sleep and want to say "metal shell" to James who is at his keyboard. Not the first time the whole dream comes washing back with the morning e-mail. But my tongue is thick and dull and I am afraid of waking up and so I don't say anything. Just wanting to say it is enough, I guess. The shell in my thoughts all day.
Last thing, writing it down, I discover exactly what the shell is and start to shake. A brand new diagnosis, a new shape to life: a metal shell. Writing, bah. I don't recommend it.
5 Comments
Okay, this one scares me. What is the shell?
the graphics on your site are shells — beautiful, intricate shells …
Agh! Don’t say “chewing tinfoil”! (skin creeps)
They can weld metal beneath the sea with their bare hands.
The shell to me represents a tiny curled fetus and the little pewter feet that the pro-life team gives out in January - but then, I’m studying Maternal/Neonatal notes right now….