Sunday Poem

Amor Negro

In our wagon oysters are treasured
Their hard shells clacking against each other
Words that crash into out ears
We cushion them
Cup them gently in our hands
We kiss and suck the delicate juice
And sculpture flowers from the stone skin
We wash them in the river by moonlight
With offerings of songs
And after the meal we wear them in our hair
And in our eyes

by Sandra Maria Esteves
El Coro
University of Massachusetts Press, 1997