Walking along the family blanketed beach
Just beyond tourist landmarks where human and animal prints overlap
Upon a grainy treasure map of a small child’s mind,
I notice a shattered nautilus lying in the course granite sand
Protruding from its half-open grave
Reaching out to the sea, hoping to be saved by the tidal Minos
Placing gently the shell within my shriveled palm
Imagining it was an artifact, an old diary or even an old scribbled note
left in a book within a flooded basement,
I begin to wonder the stories it could tell
Drifting through aquatic worlds until it met its fate within my palm
I prod the seven pieces clumped together
Atop the lifelines stretching across my hand
As if I was asking an old friend to relay a story,
But with the silence of the wind,
The prickling heat upon its fissures
Its stories are taken, left to my interpretation
And with a rushing wave, I return it to the sea.
