Scavenging

We discovered innocence in the tidal pools,
the water licking against our ankles in quiet, hungry circles.
The sun:
sagging on the horizon, splayed across the sky
like a dog belly-up.
It panted yellow across the clouds
and
bled red.
We let our fingers worm through the mud,
groping, feeling,
until we found our clam.
Brushing the pads of our fingers
against its shell, we found
the truth,
scrawled in the bony ridges of years and growth.
You looked at me, and said: "We
should break it open."
I agreed. A fingernail was placed
on the seam of its mouth.
(Salt--you could see it,
crusting on its lips and sinking into my hangnail.)
Pressure was applied. I
dug into its gums,
this courier-of-honesty, sank my spade
into its words,
and burrowed.
Its pleasantries
were fed to grasping teeth,
open and spread wide, wider,
waiting, like the jaws of a shredder,
letting words run through its toothless frown like lightning through air,
and disintegrating as quickly
as the water.