"See them at low tide, scallop shells glittering on a scallop-edged shore, whittled by water into curvy rows the shape of waves that kiss the sand only to erode it. Today I walked that shoreline, humming, Camino Santiago, the road to St. James's tomb, where pilgrims traveled, scallop badges on their capes, and chanted prayers for a miracle to cure disease."
"And so I, stirred by their purpose, hunted for scallop shells shaped like pleated fans, with mouths that open and close to steer them from predators. I scooped up a fan and blew off sand grains, thinking, for that one moment, of how Saint James' body rose from the sea decked with scallops, and of this empty beach in another austere time. Let this unholy pilgrim implore the scallop shell, silvery half-moon, save us."
"Moving at a graceful walking pace, contentedly beachcombing, it seems at first the poem's speaker is reminded by the scallop-shells she sees of St James the Great and the Camino de Santiago. Pilgrimages are still made to the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral, which was believed to have been built on the site where the remains of St James the Great were buried."
A walker along a shoreline observes scallop shells glittering at low tide, shaped by waves into scallop-edged curving rows. The Camino de Santiago and Saint James arise in memory as pilgrims wore scallop badges and chanted prayers for a miracle to cure disease. Stirred by that purpose, the walker hunts for pleated-fan scallop shells, scoops one up, and blows off sand grains while imagining Saint James' body rising from the sea decked with scallops and an empty beach in austere times. An imploring plea addresses the scallop shell as a silvery half-moon asking for salvation. The chanting of medieval pilgrims and the shell-hunting link through the threat of disease and death, and the beach's emptiness suggests pandemic origins. The form aligns with an extended renga.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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