Seashore Gatherings

I take her shells back to the shore:
drawerfuls, tins, bread-bags of treasures

handpicked for shading, shape,
the best hermit crab homes.

One shelf full, she started another,
cast mini beaches over her flat.

I tip a bucket into a rock pool, catch the dip
and rise of her red gingham bonnet.

A final flowerpot remains on her patio,
overflow from her last haul,

each stone as grey as her husband’s Sunday best.