Sand Museum

This is my museum of shells

Nautilus, Strombus Goliath, Spiny Oyster, Sand Dollar, Delphinula

Collected from:

White sands of the Virgin Islands,

Tide pool in the shadow of Haystack Rock,

Aquatic gift shop.

I hold a ‘ Winding Stair’, prickled and weathered

From a place I don’t know, understand, or acknowledge.

Home of sand crab, grown child’s memoir,

Witness of slaughter and rape.

Was it witness to the Battle of Normandy or the banks of Jamestown when innocent mens’ blood was split from nations afar?

Staircase winding, spiraling, twisting, contortion.

As if mocking the breath of my existence, the shells lives and creates for its’ own will not the will of others.

I prefer to be the miracle like the shell, one that stands alone within the walls of water and sand- to stand alone in a sea of men.

The shell holds some fractal form of fate, it knows a better form of living, for it doesn’t know the exact date.

Spiral of shell and grains of sand

Sitting resolutely with an unpaved story in my head.

To pave my own pages,

To pave own winding stair of an untamed roadmap of my life.