The seashells near the ocean
where I grew up are storytellers.
Every morning, feet burning
... [+]
in the stream behind
your house we absconded
with one, he pinched
at my cupped palms
as we bounded up
the stairs into your room
we threw the door closed
we thought we set him free
in your aquarium
& we slept that night
arms touching
bellies still sore
from giggling & we woke
to a guppy-less
aquarium we carried
him back in a bucket
we couldn't carry that weight
with bare hands