Stage
Weales, Gerald
June Frcmkland Baker Coquinas butterfly-shell clams These minute shells, opened but hinged, rest in a mahogany dish turned by my uncle. After he died, Mother, flying thousands of miles, carried it...
...After he died, Mother, flying thousands of miles, carried it to me...
...The shells have traveled their own migration, brought west by a friend from her Florida beach, the coquinas persistently leaving these spread wings for her daily walk...
...They cluster now on the handrubbed wood as if each receding or advancing tide, each mallet stroke of sun, had been worth it...
...Opalescent, citrine, amethyst, they shine in this desert light as if they belonged— like rabbitbrush in bloom, or very old, discarded bottles changed by the desert sun from clear to violet...
Vol. 119 • August 1992 • No. 14
