My sister and IScramble up the jagged rocksOur pockets full of shells, rocksAnd the occasional sea glass.My mother sits by the fire,Reading peacefullyWe grab sheets of paper towelsOn the windowsill, a menagerieOf tiny ocean creaturesUnmoving now, glistening in the sunThey sit there all weekendUntil it’s time toGo.The sea glass is the last act in the showAll others packed upShoved into bags and jacketsWe always leave the best for lastBut when we get home,Exhausted in that exhilarating way,The memories are drawn out of our thingsWe lock them in our mindsAnd all that’s left is dull rocksThe magic somehow all gone.They were always more beautifulWhen you had the ocean behind themThe waves pounding the shoresThe earthy damp scentAnd the fireplace, crackling all night.