Sea shells in my palm; homes away from home




I hold these sea shells

in the palm of my hand.

They smell of salt and sea

as they remember their home.

My small son smiles up at me

as a litany of words pours

out of his hard-working mouth

about the beauty and wonder

of these cherished sea-mollusc carapaces

upon which he happily stumbled.

What serendipity!

These sea shells lined with sand

-expired animal's homes-

carrying with them tiny pieces

of their beloved real estate...

and, if you listen closely,

singing a tribute to the sea,

their mother. 







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