April 26, 2015

#NaPoWriMo 2015 no.26

mouthing the words "the Douve River estuary"

my son brought me home 
some sand from Omaha beach 
it is in a plastic water bottle 
on my desk shelf 
next to a clay pot and 
a magnet Mona Lisa...

I look at its grains 
brown to light tan, 
do ghosts have stains 
I think to myself and 
if they did have stains 
could they explain 
to me why the world 
squeezed itself this way 
terrible pain for beauty, power 
and ideologies, wolves 
seeking flesh 
in the tides...

where do we climb 
to kiss the sky 
that remembers 
only yesterday's 
good parts...

watching seasons 
and water buys us time 
we say to ourselves 
this heals all wounds 
we forget sometimes 
to mention...

some scars 
mean to keep 
repeating rituals 
watching rivers 
and rain 
turn mountains 
into sand 
at the sea...


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