As my feet sink
into warm sand,
the years drop away.
I am five
perched on a terry cloth towel,
watching my mother
scan the packed sand at water’s edge
for treasure.
Come look!
A creamy tiger-striped whorl
rests in her open palm.
The moon shell glistens
from the kiss of the surf.
I am ten
traversing the rocky shore in Maine,
bending to discover
well worn bits of glass
with rounded edges
in cobalt blue, sea foam green, amethyst.
I am twenty six
walking the beaches of south Florida
drenched in memories of my grandmother.
Her delight in discovering
an oblong Olive shell,
perfect for fitting in the pocket
to rub whenever worry abound.
I am thirty two
walking hand in hand
with my young son
as he darts from shell pile to shell pile.
A late night storm hurled
a smorgasbord of delights
onto the shoal,
too many wonders
to comprehend at once.
Yesterday
I walked the beach,
my siblings at my side,
laughing and reminiscing,
our eyes lowered to the sand
beneath our feet.
We remain seekers,
generation upon generation
alert to the beauty
above, around and before us.
A Reading Life 
Hello Beth, let me be the first commenter to say how much I love your poem! I love how you travel through memories of people and places, and even the different personalities of different beaches (some have sea glass, some olive shells.) I love your line ‘the moon shell glistens from the kiss of the surf.’ I also note how you use repetition in opening lines but not totally, giving your poem both structure and variety.
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Sorry to be anonymous! This is Fran McCrackin.
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Lovely. I remembered collecting shells with our grandchildren last year. We live not far from the Arabian sea.
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I enjoyed following your shell seeking journey through the years. I’ve wandered the shore in Oregon, Washington, Georgia, North and South Carolina, Florida, New Jersey, California… Panama and Peru. Memories, delights, wonders and beauty… such treasures on the shore.
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I am with you every step of your poem. The imagery is as vivid as the memories- this poem is exquisite. Happy seeking and slicing.
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This was beautiful. I love the imagery. I loved the movement through time. And you’re so right. Hunting for shells is magical. I love doing it with my kids. I love doing it on my own. You never know what you’ll find and it’s always amazing!
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This was beautiful. I love the imagery. I loved the movement through time. And you’re so right. Hunting for shells is magical. I love doing it with my kids. I love doing it on my own. You never know what you’ll find and it’s always amazing!
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Reading this makes me want to book a trip right NOW to the beach! Your lovely words remind me of how we often do the same action across our timeline and at every age, it is comforting. Your word choice is brilliant in this poem. So glad I get to read your writing for the next 30 days!!
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I am SO excited for your poetry this month! The imagery is incredible. I especially love your word choice in the “I am ten” stanza. I can see and feel the shell! Thank goodness I’m on my way to the beach now 🙂
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Oops! This is Megan Kroger, not anonymous 🙂
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Shell seeking has always been and will always be one of my favorite things. Thanks for transporting me to a beach walk!
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Katlyn Bennett 🙂 I need to figure out all the logins on these blog sites!
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Beautiful! Makes me want to cry. Where has our life gone? Just like yesterday: “I am thirty two/walking hand in hand/with my young son/
as he darts from shell pile to shell pile.” Capturing these visual memories makes life feel less impermanent.
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