I’ll Count A Few of the Sands of Time

Winter dark shuts tight
Across the causeway
That joins the town
And beach of the same name—
A narrow strip
Into the gulf.

Raining hard
Across the small balcony
And later on
the nice motel
Briefly blacked-out.

That was the end
Of somethings
And the start
Of others.
Beethoven blaring
From the satellite radio
On the wet drive
To admire
Submarine-inspired
Beach houses
Then sitting in the parking lot
Drumming on the steering wheel
Waiting for the end.

A memory, not significant
In any
Particular way
Except perfect, preserved
Like a little glass bottle
Filled with sand
From an unvisited beach
Bought at a flea market
Labelled by an unseen hand.

 

About the Poet:
Miriam’s Sagan’s writing can be found on her blog: Miriam’s Well at http://miriamswell.wordpress.com. Her most recent book, A GEPGRAPHIC: Memoir of Time and Space from Casa de Snapdragon, was published 2016.

 

Photo by Piper.

 

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