Today I found that shell you gave me at the bottom of my purse. Suddenly, the memories of us cluttered my mind, and I felt the familiar ache bubble up in my chest.

You gave the shell to me on the last trip we took. We were on the beach playing with drift wood, skipping rocks and tar balls. You found the shell as you were sifting through the sand. It was clean and ivory white, the edges were worn down from friction and life. You admired the uniqueness of the shell, put it in my hand, and said to give it to the kids. 

“Tell them it’s a shark tooth”, you instructed with a smile.

I had forgotten about that moment. It was special, but I knew deep down you were fading away.  I wanted you to give the shell to the kids.   

Perhaps, I’ll keep it a little longer.

Sherean Dargahi's poetry has appeared in 'Writing Sound: An Anthology of Poems from the Southern San Joaquin Valley' and 'Writing Flora, Writing Fauna: A Collection of Poems from the Southern San Joaquin Valley'. She works as an administrative coordinator for California State University, Bakersfield.