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The Conchologist and the Shoemaker
JAMA. 2006;296:1039.
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| Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 150 words of the full text and any section headings. |
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The blind professor's no stranger to seeing
the terrain rocky, his boots wearing thin—
what needs repair he says, the tear hidden
in the sole below my arch, skin splittng
where my feet have swelled with age, the right close
around my ankle, the fit less good, the smell
somehow off, more of sweat than leather. Tell
me—might the odor come from coast sea moss?
The shoemaker strokes his chin and looks him
in the eye that glisters, says I’ll stretch them
half a size and smooth the saddle—the smell?
the shells you study, sir, their sea-salt film.
The blind professor rubs his fingers on
the boot's hide, traces seams and cuts, searches
for clues, says look, this torn selvage reaches
inside like sea-worn specimens of Conus
litteratus. The shoemaker slides his thumb
over instep sweat-polished warm, feels the last,
sees scratches don't penetrate the surface.
Wax will seal . . . [Full Text of this Article]
Edythe Haendel Schwartz
Davis, Calif
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