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