Angel wings and venus combs
murex, cowries, helmet shells
chambered and paper nautilus
all those exotic beauties spoke
to the eager boy I was
sang as shells do
held to the ear
of island archipelagos
beaches scoured by the waves
of distant oceans
places I would likely
never see

Later it was the romance
of creating a collection
seeing if I could find and name
all the native Vineyard shells
knobbed whelk, channel whelk
moon shell, quahog, razor clam
mussel, periwinkle, limpet
I think it was the names as much
as the shells themselves
that drew me in

The collection lived on a while
in my parents' Atlanta garage
along with other childhood remnants
but that was a long time back
now when I think of those lovely forms
I'm reminded of how the seas are changing
the acid that's making it ever harder
for molluscs to make their shells

Will the shells I loved as a child
come to be something mostly viewed
behind glass in museum cases
relics of an age before
ocean acidification?

It's a thought that saddens me
remembering my island childhood
in a time already changed
not for the better but not yet
beyond all recognition

Don't know what the future
might hold for my great-grandchildren
but for my son's three youngsters
grown up beside Pacific tidepools
I'm thankful that they know
and love the ocean
its secrets
and the many treasures
tossed up by the tides