My Poem

Shells on Sill

Every day I wake

to see our history

on window sill

of my bedroom,

twelve small shells,

delicate, fragile as love,

one for each year

together.

Angular sun casts

shadow rhombi of panes

across wooden table

and sea-bleached

conch shell.

Can its

pink chamber

hold twelve years

of ocean?

Beyond window

lies marsh,

then bay, then sea.

You are as lost to me

as a whaler to a widow,

watching and waiting

 

This poem is included in my chapbook Spent published by http://www.finishinglinepress.com, available at their online bookstore. I hope you enjoy this one.