Dusting time has come.
I remove a seashell from my bookshelf,
wiping dust off its peachy-cream surface.
The exterior is cool and rough to my fingers,
and its beautiful curved figure takes up my entire palm.
Smiling, I press it to my ear and listen
to the echoes of the waves,
of the ocean.
Cleaning her bookcase, my mother handed it to me
on a long, summer day. I’d admired
the glossy sheen inside and
its ghostly voice since the first time I’d held it
in my hands. An ocean breeze tugged
as I’d imagined the world it’d seen. Deep
in the cool Pacific waters the conch watched thousands of
species of fish swim past the reef it’d rested upon.
It had been in a world I’d never enter,
in a place I’d never visit. It saw wonders of creation
that I could never even dream.
Sighing, I placed it back
in its corner of the shelf. The shell sits
untouched, pristine and clean. I hardly ever have time
to hold it anymore; schoolwork keeps me busy on most days.
I still imagine its world on those long, hot
summer days, yet my thoughts always turn away
to more important subjects like Friday’s movie
and my best friend’s birthday party.
Who has time for daydreams?
Conch [poem]
Larissa Lee 