Hoarding

Hoarding

I creep to the shallows, my hollow heart briny
and swollen with the harsh tug of glinting objects –

A butter knife crusted with cracked molluscs,
a broken earring cheap and rusted, I prise

a hair comb from its seaweed coat, claw out
a loose tooth, wear it like a broken crown.

Salty sweet and tender, I snatch a crab’s claw
from under a rock, adorn it with the glittering

pink plastic of a child’s ring, shaken loose
from a magazine cover. This shoal is saturated

in treasure fit for a Queen, glittering substitutes,
none as precious as calves, ankles, toes.