Giant acorn barnacle. You’re a mini volcano perched on a rock island, smooth and cold against my cupped palm, where life lines converge. You’re a tiny white colossus on on a dark grey forlorn landscape.
It’s thanks to this diminutive stone that you made your way in my pocket to the windowsill at the top of the stairs. You’re part of my irregular routine. I love feeling the saw-edged ridges of your slopes. And contemplating how your four jig-sawed plates of armor close your caldera.
While exploring at low low tide, I’ve gotten to know your kin. Why is it that your communities face outward across the water? Storms sneak up behind the tidal rise and you get buffeted. You have to hold on for dear life! Your tenacity, your stick-to-it-tiveness against the onslaught of wind-battered waves inspires me. You’re one with your rock.
Yes, I once tried to dislodge a single barnacle from the great acorn colony on the back of a three-foot high rock on my beach. Impossible, of course. That’s why I feel so lucky to have found you, my outlier friend, and your private islet.
I haven’t seen you in action. Water’s too cold for me. But I have an underwater video of you acorn giants. It’s quite pornographic! A whole bunch of you all-gender individuals fucking one another! Shocking and wonder-filling to discover that your penises are thirteen times the altitude of your volcanos! The longest – proportionally – of any animal in God’s boundless creation. Wow!