TheBanyanTree: Her Shells - a poem

[LaLinda]

her finely appointed downsizer
where she once entertained now
held tables heavy laden with fine things
gold-edged carafes and tea sets
red Russian glassware
pottery
bright and clean watercolors of European streets
a basket made by a niece's hands and a book
my husband found amusing
How to Live With a Catholic
which fell open to the chapter on sex.

The shells were hand picked, said a daughter
near their home in St. Petersburg
Her voice was tender with remembrance and
in my mind's eye I saw a woman on an early morning beach
before it gets too hot
her white curls dancing like breakers on the water
her pant legs rolled up to her calves
bent over against sea like silver
inspecting her finds

There was a medal of St. Anthony of Padua with
the child Jesus in his arms on a gold  box chain
which slid like a silky snake in my hand and a
tangled collection of rosaries
but it felt wrong to touch those
objects intimate with the
meditations of their owners
like diaries or letters between lovers and so
I left them entwined and wrapped 'round one another

feeling the loss of a woman whose name I never knew
I took the handmade basket to treasure
and left with three prefect shells.

LLDeMerle