Seashells

he brings them home

from the school

playground

a coastal town

we are

and the school is not

seaside

but these shells

managed their way

to his recess yard

only six years old

and he espies

these tiny slivers of

sea

during play

patterned and scalloped

in exquisite fashion

muted colours that only the sea

can harvest

gray

beige

charcoal

crème

eggshell

they clitter and clatter

tinkling sounds

when gathered

and, they have brought me

a poem

the sea knows

poetry

Annie Kiyonaga

2002