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.