Then I called my heart oyster -a gold-toothed pinctada radiata
burrowed in Red Sea salt.
I hide the wound
inside my mantle, no grain of sand,
but a minute renegade parasite:
or maybe the part of me too close
to fragile lips to survive
a seafloor world disclosed.
I wrap this foreign
or familiar sharp tear again
and again in sheets of nacre,
tucking this tiny offense
into thin folds of gray calcium
carbonate luminous structure.
Each time it will become smoother:
I create the invader apart
from me and beautiful.
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