My sister and I
Scramble up the jagged rocks
Our pockets full of shells, rocks
And the occasional sea glass.
My mother sits by the fire,
Reading peacefully
We grab sheets of paper towels
On the windowsill, a menagerie
Of tiny ocean creatures
Unmoving now, glistening in the sun
They sit there all weekend
Until it’s time to
Go.
The sea glass is the last act in the show
All others packed up
Shoved into bags and jackets
We always leave the best for last
But when we get home,
Exhausted in that exhilarating way,
The memories are drawn out of our things
We lock them in our minds
And all that’s left is dull rocks
The magic somehow all gone.
They were always more beautiful
When you had the ocean behind them
The waves pounding the shores
The earthy damp scent
And the fireplace, crackling all night.
Amherst, Massachusetts
