I learned to eat oysters by overriding
their gross appearance with mental force,
willed my revulsed senses to stand down,
then placed the gray globule in my mouth.
I forgave, to my delight, the oyster’s sensory offenses
and let the bivalve mollusk linger behind my teeth.
A delicate ocean wave rolled in from the briny deep
and placed a subtle kiss on the shore of my tongue.
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I was young when I encountered my first oyster. It was
December 24,1949 and my mother continued her long
tradition of serving oyster stew on Christmas Eve. On
previous years I ate the little crackers and a hot dog.
But this was my sixth Christmas and I took up the
challenge of eating oyster stew. I have loved oysters
ever since. This poem is an adult version of eating an
oyster for the first time.