Sam Bellamy
—
Ecotone
Brackish water. River into gaping
ocean. You taught me how
to split open an oyster.
When you eat it,
you are eating the whole animal.
It dies inside of you.
There was something about the way
your lips touched the shell.
Two habitats meeting. A slipping.
I tried to show you how
I could unhinge it
in one smooth go.
You were distracted by the marvel
of eating from the water
you swam in.
We threw the empty vessels
back into the marsh.
Overfished reef. Seagrass meadows.
A tidal mouth is a door
ajar. There was so much
dripping down your chin.
I wanted you to tell me
I was sweet and went down easy.
Sam Bellamy was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY. They hold an MFA in Creative Writing from the City College of New York, and currently teach undergraduate composition at City College and Lehman College.
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