Beach Glass

Who knew this too could become endangered or extinct?

They gave me a little pail so I collected beach glass and shells.

Who knew the sound in a seashell wasn’t your own blood—

No more than the ocean? It was the shell’s chambers breathing,

A voice of air: Not churning breakers, nor a pulse in your ear.

In the sun’s furnace glare, the cloudy smooth gemstones

Couched an interior fire. Like shells, progeny of the beach.

Back then, who knew talcum powder could ignite cancer?

Cobalt from Phillips’ Milk of Magnesia. Emerald from Coke.

Wildroot Cream-Oil, Desert Flower, Serutan—the years

Eroded their pale glitter. I had a friend once who loved

Buying the water that came in plastic bottles: Nature

Mastered by invention. Who knew those very bottles could

Strangle the ocean? Did their chemicals make him sick?

Prone on the sand, I studied an inch from my eye the jagged

Clear granules they told me were seeds of molten glass.