My Grandma collects seashells

My Grandma

Collects seashells

The white bedroom

In her old home

The Seashell Shrine

Strewn out and around

Arranged like an orchestra

Or rather

The Seashell Symphony

My Grandma

Collects seashells

I collect buttons

I can't sew

But my Grandma can

My Grandma, the needle

Of the life thread I am

My Grandma

Collects seashells

But I don't know

The last time she went to the beach

Seashells

A reminder

For when what we want

Might be out of reach

Seashells are to beaches

As buttons are to clothes

A symbol of the grander

Origin point of where life grows

My Grandma

Sold her old home

A few years ago

The Seashell Symphony

Now seashell soloists

Scattered around

The new house

And other friend homes

My buttons

Large jars in my parents' attic

Some in a bowl

On my windowsill

It's hard to discard

A button

The ones in the plastic bags

Behind the new coat's tag

Because

When my Grandma watched me

And Eva, Emma, and Maggie

Encouraged me she

To collect them

Bringing new ones from

Her big sewing room

I go between

Discarding and keeping

But perhaps

A collection

Of seashells

Or of buttons

Reflects what they stand for

Collecting is a symbol

Of something bigger, much more

The whole

Is stronger

Than the parts alone

And symbolize

A beautiful life

Whether collected

From clothes or from shore

My Grandma

Collects seashells

A seashell collector is she

My Grandma

Like her

I aspire to be

My Grandma

Conductor

Of the Seashell Symphony

My Grandma

When I see

A seashell

I think of she

Seashell she

A true collector's item

And a Collector, like her

I hope to someday be