My Sister, the Conchologist

by Andy Sia

Where there was body there now is—        Specimen is dextral, fusiform, many-whorled, feels very good nestled in the palm of the chief inquisitor        When in doubt remember home’s a heft one shuttles across sand and sea        What is a shell but a matrix of calcium compound        What is a shell but that which is in between life and death        In school she is quiet, average, not someone the teachers would peg as a truant        Today, the ocean glints        Her schoolbag bulges with samples; still, there’s always the understanding we begin with a catalogue of ourselves is there not        Later at home she’s yelled at for the neglect of her studies       In her room, eyes still red, she holds her conch to her ear