They rushed out of the water and sat in the sand,

covered with years, maybe decades of life.

Once used, now picked up…

they really don’t know the difference.

If you hold them to your ear you can hear the ocean

or the cry of emptiness or laments of love.

That wasn’t I you met with the rough edges;

that wasn’t you I slammed against and couldn’t break.

There’s sand

on that imaginary beach we never visited

under warm waters we never touched.

That wasn’t I pulling away against the current;

that wasn’t you causing me hurt.

It was them, now laying in the sand

dormant and clueless,

aging unchanged.

We never got to meet in that blissful silence;

or maybe we did, it’s hard to know.

You would have liked me.

Those shells… are certainly beautiful,

but one wasn’t you

and the other wasn’t I.

By tuttysan © 2011

Shells, a poem. Photo: Delwood Beach, Manly – Australia.

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