The oyster knife fit perfectly in her hand, its old wooden handle smooth and darkened with a century of use; how it pried open the barnacled shell (shell after shell) until there was a pile resting at her feet and the soft flesh of the oysters filled a bowl, their delicate lace edges curling outward away from the green sack of their being. She slipped one into her mouth— oysters on the half shell always her favorite. Always a top shell and a bottom shell. Never a pearl. Someday, she said to herself— someday she will find a pearl, but until then she promised herself, she would keep on eating oysters.
When the blade goes dull, I will think of Zora Neale Hurston who wrote
“No, I do not weep at the world — I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.”
Sharpen your knife.
dVerse prompt to write prosey using the words of Zora Neale Hurston from 1928 in World Tomorrow —How It Feels to be Colored Me.
Also using Ursula K. Le Guin’s Steering the Craft Exercise 3, using long and short sentences.
Real old oyster knife pictured found at a thrift shop San Juan Island.
My daughter loved the book of poetry Where the Sidewalk Ends. She took it to bed. Nestled in those pages was the line “If you are a dreamer, come in.” by Shel Silverstein.
I remember the dreams I had for me and I remember the dreams I had for you. Not just ordinary ones like getting a good grade in school or going to a fine university, living in a two story house or taking a trip to Greenland. Not the dream to be a poet or magician or architect. My dreams concerned paradigms, broader in scope than world peacekeeping or disarmament. I dreamt contentment for us all, lack of greed and pride, love of the human race, coming in together.
dVerse prosey prompt on Shel Silverstein quote from his poem Invitation.
I masked up and went to the grocery store. It had been three months of home delivery. Now I was on my own. I went early and social distanced most of the time.
There was lots of produce and salad dressings. Flour, not so much. Yeast, no way, but still hopeful. There was bleach and a few hand soaps. Alcohol on the bottom shelf, way in the back. You had to bend over to see it. Plenty of eggs and cheese and milk. A few boxes left with Aunt Jemima still pictured with perfect pancakes.
The checkout clerk wore a mask and asked me if I had found everything I needed. I hesitated; she waited for the answer. “Do you think we will ever have yeast again?” I asked through my mask. She thought I said, “Do you think we will ever have peace again?” She replied and finished with “only if people will do the right thing.”