Poem #3: Collection Poem

Seashells

Sally sells seashells by the seashore
gritty grains on the ocean floor.
Seashells
Seashells
by the sea shore.

Scraped knees
sand dollars,
innocent laughter.
Hallucinations
of half hearted hollers
directed towards my name.
We come home,
to display
bruises and bouquets,
of every color.
Adventures.
Taming the mild mannered man
my loving grandfather.

A conch,
ear to ear
the hum of the ocean’s edge.
Outcry,
outraged by his lack of response,
outside of myself
I’m washed upon the shore.
A message in a bottle
never arrived
and the shells collect dust
in forgotten paper bags
stuffed under your goose down pillows.
They disappear behind wrinkles,
and laugh lines,
never to return.
I just wish he remembered my name,
my face.

I read to him
a Psalm
out of a tattered Bible,
as he traced the outline
of a dead and dry starfish.
He was out at sea,
drifting away,
but the outline of that starfish
and his fingers
for a moment...

I think he remembered my name.