Mussel Shell

An old fisherman and a tide of return.

The mussel shell lay
sandy
dried
shriveled under the sun

The old fisherman
picked it up
with his aged body
brought them both
to the frigid water.

Expressionless
he entered

The ice water
climbed slowly
up his ankles
his shins
his hips
his chest
his neck
all of him

There he submersed
holding the mussel shell
holding his breath
wondering if he’d ever return

Minutes rolled by
with the waves

Then with a giant gasp
he emerged
as a young man

The mussel shell shone
a bright purple
varnished by the sea

He dropped the mussel shell
into the surf
And to the sands
he returned

The sun began to beat
upon him again

but the cold sea was never far.

A poem by Pemba Umoja