she collects glass upon some foreign shore
and sends bric-a-brac back to the states, back
to her ex-husband, who she believes to be
building a vast collection of intriguing
salvaged seaglass; she envisions his house
filled with light and lined in shelves displaying
her finds — a museum to her, or at least
one wing given to her exhibition.
he frowns, off-put, each time a box arrives
demanding his attention. those first years
it was a hopeful ritual, offerings
she sent comforted his solitude; but
these days his new love looks askance as he
lists each item in his ebay storefront.
David M Pitchford