Hog Island Oysters

By Devin Johnston b. 1970 Devin Johnston
Oysters adhere
to things, no eyes:

spat on the smooth
curve of a pier

they feel shadows   
and snap shut.

The sun wavers
while anchored below

each distills
Tomales Bay,

accreting waves
within its shell.

Voluptuous and cold,
Kumamoto trembles

on a thin fork,

of cloud. Rain
distorts glass,

our tavern submerged
all afternoon.

Source: Poetry (December 2007).


This poem originally appeared in the December 2007 issue of Poetry magazine

December 2007
 Devin  Johnston


Born in Canton, New York, Devin Johnston grew up in Winston-Salem and received his PhD from the University of Chicago.

Johnston is the author of several collections of poetry, including Sources (2008), a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, Aversions (2004) and Telepathy (2001). His prose writing includes the critical study Precipitations: Contemporary American Poetry as Occult Practice (2002) and Creaturely and . . .

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Activities, Jobs & Working, Nature, Animals

POET’S REGION U.S., Midwestern

Poetic Terms Metaphor

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