As I hold the beautiful seashell
rounded to perfection
I can still hear the blue-sky waves
crashing on the tanned shore.

I remember
the warm sun glowing off a watered-down log—
a glinting brown cylinder
we hide our colorful flip-flops behind.

I remember
the loud laughs echoing
from Isa’s mouth
as the high tide sweeps
a turquoise broom around us.

I remember
the rocky stubs
of long-forgotten crustaceans
poking my salted feet.

I remember
the vroom of a motorcycle
as a man sells lovely products in a rich mahogany box
straight off the beach—
sea turtle magnets, rope bracelets, shell headbands.

I remember
the soft grumble of the ocean
as it waves its broom once more at my cousins.

I remember
splashing water at Ica, Isa, and Mia,
and then getting a mouthful back
of gritty water.

And I remember
finding the perfect piece of shell—
a carefully crafted oval with smooth edges,
handmade by God
to preserve all my memories of the beach.

I remember.

And I will forever.