STARSHELLS

I.

That night, Chloe and Dylan kidnap me,

take me to the ocean.

They have a surprise, they say.

In Chloe’s Volvo,

I stretch my dad’s T-shirt

over my knees.

Chloe tells me I need to change clothes,

there’s no excuse for bad hygiene.

I can’t see the ocean

but, with the window down,

I can smell, almost taste,

the salt.

II.

They bought me a telescope.

We watch stars firework across the night.

Up close, like Mr. Lamb’s slides.

I stargaze,

Dylan hugs me from behind.

He kisses me once,

Chloe turns cartwheels

in the sand.

Pieces of shell glint

all around us,

like thousands of stars

rained to Earth.

I gather one for each of them.

A deep blue mussel for Chloe.

For Dylan, a heart-shaped cockle.

For James, two shiny jingles.

Mom, a soft white slipper shell.

Rainbow-striped scallop for April.

Angel’s wings

for Dad.

And for me,

a

Venus clam.