Sister, can you spare me a seashell?
Last week she had asked me, "Sister, can you spare me a seashell? This town it is loud, but my thoughts, they are louder. I need to drown them like so many sailors lost in a sudden storm."
I told her that she needed to seek help instead of seashells; they did not hold the ocean and could not drown her thoughts.
Then my frustration melted to see her so suddenly as I had not since we were children, when she would beg, her eyes wide with fear, to check beneath our bed before she could sleep. She was scared of the dark and the darkness never seemed to leave her.
She looked so small as she walked away without the hope she came for and so broken when she paused by the door to say, "but I have tried everything else."
I saw her yesterday,
sleeping in the shallows
with her feet