Room Without You (previously titled Shell)

I walked into a seashell
abandoned on a landscape
of sand with no footprints,
empty deck chairs sun-scorched,
flowers still surviving
and cool pink tiles under my feet.
I put my nose on its ragged contour
for your sense but smelled
only fishes and sea
and humid air, musky
from furniture untouched.

I brushed sand off its edges
and coughed.
Your music box sang the same tune
I’ve heard over and over.

I held the hollow against my ears.
Its warmth on my cheek
was like your lips.
I’ve trapped your laughter
in the grooves of my palm
but all I heard was vacuumed silence pounding
like ghastly breath in my head.

(5 August 2006)

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Shell
(1st draft - 18.7.2006)

I walked into a seashell
abandoned on a landscape
of sand with no footprints,
empty deck chairs scorched dried
by the sun, flowers still surviving
and cool pink tiles under my feet.
I put my nose on its ragged contour
for your sense but smelled
only fishes and sea
and humid air, musky
from furniture untouched.

I brushed sand off its edges
and coughed
as dust raided my nose.
Your music box sang the same tune
I’ve heard over and over
like the wind whistling
at my window panes at night.

I held the hollow against my ears.
Its warmth on my cheek
was like your lips.
I’ve trapped your laughter
in the grooves of my palm
but all I heard was vacuumed silence,
pretending to be long distance call
from the waves, pounding
like ghastly breath in my head.

(18 July 2006)