Karen King writes

You were in a seashell,

hiding in a soft, smooth cavity,

safe from the world.

It was like you had drawn

velvet curtains around yourself.

Outside, your edges were sharp

and your surface was rough.

Slowly, I ventured in,

through the long, dark tunnels.

The journey was arduous,

relentless.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling,

the air was musty and fetid.

Shadows crept up on me,

taking me unawares.

The glass of your windows

was smeared,

untouched and unloved.

Your abode was dusty

and uncared for.

The taste of stale air

reached my nostrils,

contaminating my mouth.

Drops of rain dripped

slowly and steadily

from your ceiling,

making the floor

wet and slippery.

I felt unwanted.

You tried to send me away

time after time,

but I forced back your curtains

and exposed your soul.

I mended your roof,

cleaned the windows,

cleaned the walls,

cleaned the ceiling,

swept the floor.

I dusted,

opened the windows,

put flowers in the windows,

made you some cakes,

sat down and we talked

and talked.

The remaining negativity dispersed

with the hopeful,

shining sun as it shone

through your clean windows

and illuminating droplets of rain

on your trees in blossom.

The birds twittered in delight

outside your windows.

The wind danced for joy,

gently rocking the birds to and fro

like babies in a crib.

The blossoms blew

and some fell off the trees,

giving a magical

and surreal scene,

landing, like white snow,

on the ground.

You looked at me

as you reached across

and took my hand,

gently smiling.

Tentatively,

I led you outside your shell

to the big world outside

and you

took your first steps

into our new world.

 

 Sea Shells - Richard Ficker