Coquinas
1
I can’t imagine
the number of times
I’ve been there
visiting Florida,
Christmas with my parents
a plastic tree
decorated
with sand dollars
and red
ribbons
eating Christmas dinner
listening to Johnny Mathis
and after the Irish coffee,
father with his brandy snifter
in hand
mother and the other
girls
putting away the dishes
the carolers would come,
walking in front of our home
singing “We wish you a
merry Christmas”
over and over again
we would walk outside
and the cool breeze
almost felt like Christmas
after the hot
 humid days
and we would stand on our driveway
smile and nod
you could see down the road
all the candles in
paper bags
lining the street
and for a few lights
the bag
burned
2
and we would take
boat rides
off the coast
my parents and their friends
to a tiny island
dad drinking beer
sometimes steering the boat
control
the women sitting together in the shade
worrying about their hair
i would sit at the front
sunglasses, swimsuit and sunburn
feeling the wind
slapping me
in the face
and turning my head away from the boat
into the wind
away from them
to face it again
docking at a shoreline
everyone jumping out
little bags in their hands
the women go looking for shells
the men go barbecue
after an hour or two
the sandwiches, potato chips eaten
the soda and beer almost
gone
we turn around
and head back
we have conquered
3
and I remember
the coquinas
the little shells
you could find them alive
on the beaches north of the pier in
Naples
going to the beach
I would look for a spot
to find them
they were all my own
they burrowed their way into the
sand
to avoid the light
worming their way away from me
I unearthed a group of coquinas once,
fascinated with their color of
their shells, the way
they moved
before they could hide
I collected them
in a jar,
took them home with me
what did you teach me
what have you taught me to do
is this it
is this what it has become
is this what has become of me
of you of us
and I took them home
I added salt water and sand
but I couldn’t feed them
I realized soon that they
would die
so I let them
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
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may be reprinted without express permission.
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