Bright orange snail shells
a ten-limbed starfish
half a plastic gun
and the dangerous part of a crab.
A high-pitched boy kicks waves at his family
as they put cockle shells into a shopping bag.
There’s a glass bottle filled with sand
black lumps of wood like rocks
a chewed lion red can
and a rust-coloured skull.
Then it’s just sticks. Sticks and foam
all the way down to the last curve.
© Saradha Koirala 2009

What a lovely poem – quietly paced and a very deep ending.