Magpie 69

i don’t know. 

i’ve still got those in a corner, from that cold channel, stuffed in a pocket of my black wool coat, carried back home. 

that was a reminder of me, not of us. 

i have bowls of them, years of memorabilia comprised of ones you can hold up to your ears and ones you can just hold.  i can’t hear the ocean anymore in them, they are passive. 

and unlike some memories, i don’t have a visceral reaction anymore when i look at them. 

but ask me and i’ll tell you – i prefer the gray sand dollars over tropical shells. 

i prefer what quiets my senses, wraps me in ease, lets me breathe gently. 

the shells were the places i’d been.  but in the end, when i find my toes in wet sand, i drop to my knees to find the gray, the familiar sensation, the rough edges yet a simple shape.

and i feel that i am home when i look at you. you and your simplicity.


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