Footprints


 

  
We are sand

 

 WOW, what big feet you have grandma!

  One-two-three-four, wet sandy footprints pressing down.

 All the better to chase you with my dear!

  Five-six-seven, sticky-cold chilly, brown

  It feels funny when I run grandma; like my toes are sinking!

  Eight-nine-ten, oceans swirling underfoot, waiting, wanting to suck you in…

  That’s just the sea goddess kissing the soles of your feet,

  Crystally beige, golden black, it’s all around; all expanse no lack

  What is it made of grandma, the sand?

  Oh, you know, crushed memories and shelled creatures of the sea, 

                                                                               We are sand, my dear, and sand is we.”

Photo courtesy of CreativeInk 
  

© Suzy Rigg

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