Why are shells so fragile
Yet withstand the weight
Of the ocean and shifting sands?
Endlessly tumbled and scrubbed
To the beat of the Earth's heart.
Yet they will bloody the hand
Of the one who tries to pry.
Are hearts close cousins to the
Sea of shells – small fortresses
Those oysters when carelessly
Tossed about. Take pains to
Open gently. Harsh tides will
Shut this heart up tight; same
As the mighty clam. Yet through
An ocean of turmoil will rise to
Things remind me— Little things.
Sometimes
the simplest of sounds or
sights or a color of light
nudges a thought.
The time of day casts your shadow.
A word or flavor on the tip of my
tongue– suddenly you appear gazing
at me with your comments and the
sound of your voice reminds my ears of
how much they miss you.
I want to drop down and pound
the pavement with my fists till it
cracks open to release you and
bring you up from the dust,
bring you back to the world so
you can fix things again. And
I will stand there dutifully, happy
to hold a flashlight for you into the
dark night while you work.
You hand me a bowl full of chocolate pudding
With whipped cream and sit down with yours
in the big lazy chair. The image of
you remains in my head burned in
softly over the many years– a perpetual
Polaroid of your smile and the
bowl of some delightfully sweet
supply of dessert you hand me
the ice cream piled high with syrup and
scoops of whipped cream
and bananas and your smile in the
blue glow of the television. We share
the night and it occurs to me how
pleasant is the sound of your voice and
the big cold spoon of sweetness you give me
