She Sells Seashells
In a recent workshop, I offered the poem, “The One Thing” by Padraig O Tuama as a prompt and suggested a variation of “There must have been…” to begin each stanza. That’s the phrase that sparked the following:
There must have been some thought, some reckoning, if merely in the back cave of their minds. When they dredged the sea for treasure.
I am in a shop in Tlaquepaque, hovering over baskets brimming with scoured starfish, welks, sand dollars, murex, baby conchs, cowries, and sundials. All emptied of their inhabitants. My sister and I have come to Sedona, she to learn Reiki drumming, me to sit among the twisting junipers in the red hills in the vortex spinning from the earth.
It’s a spiritual place, this town. That’s how it’s known. For meditators and visionaries.
There’s always a cost, isn’t there, to our hunger?
Among stones, crystals, and scents of nature, these sea creatures are piled and still. They are beautiful, of course, these treasures we covet to adorn our altars. But they are dead.
My stomach is no longer hungry, and my heart hurts. This is but a single shop; one in thousands, perhaps, that sells sacrificial creatures to decorate our bathrooms.
Golden starfish slid through the shallow waters of a quiet Grand Cayman bay, their movement nearly undetectable. My son collected them to create a community group, but they glided away, back into deeper waters where they were safe from interference.
Queen Conch take five years to mature into those magnificent flanged beings who live on the sea floor. Fisherman in Cayman hack the point of their shells that anchor them, yank out the living flesh, and toss the empty pink and white shells back into the sea. You can find bleached piles of them in an underwater graveyard just beyond their protected area.
My sister and I have eaten Cayman conch in a dish they call Cracked Conch, which isn’t cracked in any way I can see. It’s pounded tender, breaded, and fried.
There’s always a cost, isn’t there, to our hunger?
I’m standing in that shop with basket after basket crowded with creatures that could nestle in my palm. My sister may not notice my tears. She’s moved to a shelf where amethyst, quartz, malachite, hematite, and obsidian have been sculpted into pleasant shapes. These gems and stones that promise mental acuity, protection, an open heart, and abundance have been procured through pick axes and explosives.
My sister chooses a smooth globe of rose quartz and pays at the cash.
Touching me on the shoulder, she says, “Let’s go get some lunch. They have great vegan food here.”
I invite you to take the sentence stem, “There must have been…” and write for 5 to 10 minutes. You are most welcome to put your piece in the comment box below. I’ll be sure to respond to what is strong and memorable.
There’s always a cost, isn’t there, to our hunger? - What a fabulous observation. I would wish that we could all take a moment to consider that truth every morning as we begin our day, and act accordingly.
Hits right at the core of my angst. Beautiful and powerful.