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| Photo by M. D. Rutledge |
This lone whelk has seen better days, Lord:
her living parts long gone, the tides and time
have troubled a break in her shell
and for that alone, collectors will likely just pass by,
leaving this treasure to hitch a ride
on the waves of the next high tide...
But if shells have tales to tell, Lord,
- and of this I'm sure: they do -
imagine the shanty a crew might sing
of a whelk's rough sail through winds and storms,
what befell her out at sea...
She keeps the ocean's secrets, Lord,
telling stories no one else remembers:
how else might I have met her,
have heard her softly calling me
to join her on the shore,
to listen to her song,
the ocean softly roaring
in the faded, holy beauty
of her sacred, broken shell...
Amen.
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