Sand

One day, on beaches here and west of here,
all the sand, tracked up on porches,
hardened at the surf,
and loose among the footprints,
turned, making each person
feel the hair on their skin. One
person said, "Cold." One person praised
God. Most people knew something
was different, the same
difference between lying abed and rising.
(Something is now quiet, something else
begun.) No one saw the shift. Nations
declared peace, and for the moment,
there was peace. If a bird flied
up (a dove, say, or swallow), the
wings beat the air stirring more dust.
Men and women know they can live
and die, because they must. One person
says, "Organisms change, organisms die."
Another praises God. Most people know
something is different and forget.

-- published in Ship of Fools, (Spring 1998, no. 41)

Copyright Louise Robertson