The milk of twelve thousand snails is needed
to dye only the trim of a single garment, *
we read while getting ready for a nap.
My daughter then mimics
how to extract ink from a mollusk,
her small fingers pulling
on imaginary teats.

We take a trip to Oaxaca
in our minds, scrambling down that rock face
to pry loose the precious gastropods. We laugh,
retract into our respective shells,
that sleepy intertidal zone, feet entwined,
inner eyes swiveling on stalks, enveloped
in the crevice of the purple spread, in dream
we are replenished.

*https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tyrian_purple

Betsy Mars is a prize-winning poet, photographer, and an editor at Gyroscope Review. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Her poetry is widely available online and in print. Her chapbooks are Alinea and In the Muddle of the Night, co-authored with Alan Walowitz. A full-length book, Rue Obscure, is forthcoming from Sheila-Na Gig.