photo: ralph murre
Shells of Pink and Beige
by Carol Louise Moon
A constellation, found in the hazel specks of
the eye’s iris, has rearranged and taken hold.
By September I could remember only that my father
lay dying, no other thoughts between us held.
I watch the old captain, his vessel sinking, water
of our tears collecting in our great ship’s hold.
Tiny shells of pink, beige and ecru in a small
lidded dish, as in a bank vault securely held.
Even his name, seen on this cracked mug,
grips my heart—has its own way of taking hold.
This hour’s dandelion fluff, blown by wind or
will across this barren plain, is a sight to behold.
In these last days I feel useless in this angled light—
a sweater, button-less yet button-holed.
And this name, my name whispered on his
dying lips, has a way of taking root… taking hold.
~ previously published in
Late Peaches, Poems by