Glass Jar


After the divorce and in the

throes, I walked along the

beaches of Southern California

sunset after sunset. I collected stones

and shells that I have kept in a

hand blown glass jar I found at a

rummage sale, green, cylindrical, with

air bubble imperfections as if to suggest a

frailty, perhaps a looming likelihood of

breaking open at

some point, though now,

twenty five years on my shelf,

holding steady to the

end of something, reminding me of

the beginning of everything.

A shell is one half of an older life.

A stone, a fragment of an older earth,

washed over smooth,

silent and waiting. A glass jar, like a

memory of experience, a mere form in which

to hold the artifacts of history,

once living, now


2 thoughts on “Glass Jar

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s