MY MOTHER STROKES THE SAND  ☉ TORWARD HER WITH HER PALM, DRAWING ☉ THE STORY OUT, THEN LEVELS IT ☉ BACK WITH THE EDGE OF HER HAND ☉

ALL THE WHILE  ❃ A GHOST CRAB, HALF-HIDDEN  ❃ UNDER A CANOPY OF CRISPED ❃ SARGASSUM, SO WELL-CAMOUFLAGED ❃

IT'S JUST A BLUR OF MOVEMENT, ⚐ HAS BEEN SLIDING IN AND OUT  ⚐ ITS TUNNEL, FORMING IDENTICAL BOULDERS ⚐ OF DAMP SAND TO STACK ⚐

AT THE ENTRANCE, ☻ A BULWARK. THE STORY ☻ IS A STONE SHE COLLECTS ☻ FROM THE TIDELINE OF THE PAST. ☻

FOR YEARS IT'S ARRIVED ✘ AGAIN AND AGAIN, AS IF SOMETHING ✘ DRAWS IT BACK ✘ TO HER MIND, TUMBLES IT, ✘

AND RETURNS IT TO HER TONGUE, ✉ A SPARER TRUTH: ONCE SHE HID ✉ A PILL BOTTLE IN HER POCKET ✉ TO HER AND WHEN THE SHOP OWNER'S ✉

BACK WAS TURNED, PULLED ✉ A MYSTERY SNAIL OFF THE GLASS ✉ AND DROPPED IT INTO THE VIAL ✉ OF WATER, SNAPPING DOWN ✉

THE LID. WHEN HER FATHER ❤ SAW IT IN HER TANK, WE WRAPPED ❤ HER BRAID AROUND HIS FIST ❤ AND WRENCHED HER OFF HER FEET ❤

A NEW DETAIL BRIGHTENS ❍ THE MEMORY'S ❍ ACHING CHAMBER. HE GAVE ❍ HER AQUARIUM AWAY ❍

WHEN SHE LOOSENS HER FIST ✏ TO LET FINE SUGAR POUR ✏ THROUGH THE HOURGLASS ✏ OF HER HAND, THE CRAB HUNCHES ✏

SINKING THE PICKS OF ITS LEGS ✂ IN THE SAND. ITS EYE BULBS, ✂ LUSTER;ESS AS IF DIPPED IN BLACK WAX, ✂ FOLD INWARD IN A CRINGE ✂

A MIND WORKS THIS WAY, IN SECRET ⚅ TIRELESSLY SHAPING, EXCAVATING ⚅ A REFUGE FOR THE TENDER SELF. A CHILD ⚅ A CHILD STEALS THE POWER SHE LONGS TO HAVE ⚅

WHAT'S A SNAIL'S SHELL ☁ BUT A COILED TUNNEL ☁ WHAT'S THE TOUGH DOOR ☁ BUT A BODY BUILDING NO. ☁