Inspiration from a stack of shells and minerals by my bed, which reminded me of a misunderstanding; listening to Emmylou Harris sing The Pearl I thought I heard her sing "Brooklyn Home," when she sang the words "broken bone." Damn the woman can write songs, many of which rip your heart out, beat it with a club and then hand it back to you to drink.
"Like falling stars from the universe we are hurled
Down through the long loneliness of the world
Until we behold the pain become the pearl"
She reminds me of Hafiz, but she sounds far more wounded. For some the grind of shell grit is far more irritating than for others, that irritation that yields prizes for a few of the lucky, like the Brooklyn widow dining in Atlantic City who found a pearl worth $2,000 in her dinner. That was in 1922, the glory days of that now bleakest of beachside destinations.
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