Sand In My Palm
"The scorch-touched days are when you come to mind most"
By Daniel Durand
The scorch-touched days are when you come to mind most
Especially near the near-eroded beach
As I sit here and reminisce, my hands sink beneath
The scattered grains of the sand’s sauna
-It's warm cushioning comfort lazying my palms
I dug my hand up that gripped a sand clump
Several grains delightfully speckled by sun.
It reminded me of you- pretty bright and down to earth.
Cheerful to be held and handled.
But out of nowhere, the sand started to dissolute
Each whisky grain giving way to gravity.
With a panic so desperate, I tightened my grip
-But a strong struggling squeeze may only further the slip.
Once again I thought of you
The dissipation of your hand in mine
Now sprinkling away like a scatter of ashes
How easy it happens is how easy it stops
It’s but a sporadic hourglass
That uses an indeterminate amount of sand
The type where you only know time is up
when you look to see your empty hand