1It was 1983 and I was six years old, riding between my father and brother in my father's Oldsmobile, back when front seats stretched from door to door. My father drove, and my brother, who was ... [+]
Hannah Rousselot's poem, "Whispers from the Sand," was originally published in Short Edition’s September '19 Rendez-Vous. Hannah is a queer French-American poet and educator. You can support her on facebook.com/hmrpoetry or buy her first book, Fragments of You.
The seashells near the ocean where I grew up are storytellers. Every morning, feet burning in the sand (yellow, the sun) I run to listen to what they have to say. They tell me about creatures that live in darkness so profound they make their own light. They tell me about forgotten things: bottles, diapers, shoes, cars, rings, rusted metal and disintegrating paper. They tell me about fragility, and how that can be strength, too. When I leave and walk back home, I remember their voices, but not their words.