Black oyster roast still emits steam. I see the black oysters feeding on the muddy breast of the canal beyond this plate. Oysters open their doors to sooth our stomachs. Roast slides down our throat holding on either side of the taste. Oyster flesh stimulates the pale and withered nights. Black oyster is a buttress to many a dream on the bank. There’s pleasure even within the clumsy shells. The unwanted on a muddy bottom become the most wanted. First appeared in The Literary Hatchet.