Shell

I found it in the wash, the orange
shell I picked up on the beach
that last time. One of my girls—
the one named after you—

must have found it in my room
and wanted it. Clean calcareous
curve, a palm open to nothing,
reeking of sunshine

and your death. For years
I didn’t know what to do with it.
You would have liked
this story: how a child

slips grief into a careless pocket.
Breaks it to pieces. Lets it go.

by Harriet Brown

Other poems of BROWN (1)

Comments (7)

it's been years and I keep coming back to this piece..yes, it is that remarkable...
I have not visited this site in years, but I always remembered this poem, and it brought me back..that is the mark of a great writer, when the work has a life of its own and weaves its way into the soul of the reader, so that it becomes apart of their very nature. thank you....Amberlee
Harriet this is simply lovely. Poetry Hound suggested I take a look at this today because he read my sonnet, 'The Gift' posted today. He said our poems were very similar. They are. You have done a lovely job with this subject.Let's have more of your poetry. Raynette
I'm stunned, honeslty. I have not read poetry of this standard since Li-young lee...it's breath-taking on a level I cannot expres right now, I look forward to more of your work. always, Amberlee
mighty fine work here. mighty fine. gave it a 10.0 Jake
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