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Poetry: The Sound of the Sea at the Shore

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illustration of sea shell

It all emerged from a tiny sea shell by Clare Celeste Börsch

As one grows older,there should be fewerand fewer words to say. Each one a few lettersbut taken togethermeaning something large. Sea. Sun. Shell. I gathera little pile, burying,unburying each, or picking one up and holding itto the sun, thinking,too bright, too bright … It is a game without endthat I lose myself inas the night begins to fall, and I shiver a little,my life a colorless cloakI fancy more and more. Like a child I will sit here,refusing all entreaties toCome in, come in right now … Can words, a single word,save me or anyone?I hold one to my ear, a roaring shell that saysneither yes nor no.I listen. …

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