Mother of Pearl World

...a poem

Photo Cliff Scholz

“Do you think there’s pearls 
to be found here?” I asked 
(don’t ask me why),
from where I sat on the shore of the island, 
dipping my bare feet in the river.

Summer afternoon. 
Warm and still.
The trees on the facing riverbanks
touched high overhead,
casting their green and golden light 
on us, and the water, and the scene.

She stood knee deep 
not far away
in the sandy-bottomed stream 
and she instantly bent down 
pulled up half a clamshell
and tossed it over, saying,
“You mean like this?”

I picked it up, 
examined it closely,
touched and was touched by
its inner satin sheen.
I smiled and said, “Yes, 
that’ll be close enough for now.”

And I suppose the reason 
this softly lustrous moment 
comes back to mind this morning
is because we live, my friends,
in a Mother of Pearl World
whose deep and silky surfaces
can in any moment
catch and reflect 
the light conversation 
of the sun and stars.

Don’t worry too much
about finding pearls.

It’s what we are.