Saturday, September 29, 2007

Old As Dirt ©©

If I stepped out with my left foot, then looked over my left shoulder and swung my left arm back in a wide arch to be followed by my left leg drawn by the momentum then planting it firmly into the ground, the right leg following around dragging the toe in the soft sand then kicking up high into the air as the grains of sand float up to be snatched by a swift right hand.

You stare at the closed fist before you
Both hands clasp together securing the prize
Held close to you, you look down for a crack to peek through, but you can’t see anything.

Your hands tighten around the grains of sand that mark time, time gone by and time not yet recorded
Nothing is older than dirt

You look at your hands as they strangle the only true witness of your past
Your future

If you open your hands what will these grains of time show you?
What have they bared witness to?
Were they there when my babies were born?
Did they watch when my life slipped into oblivion or when they brought me back?

Did they soak up my soul as it bled on the ground?
Maybe they remember my joy?
A drop of blood may have stained it once when I was a child
My daughter’s tear could have washed it clean now

Like grains of sand in an hourglass I have trapped precious moments in my hand that have marked the ages without a complaint.
Mirrors to the past, reflections of the future held here in my grasp, hidden away from my sight by no other than me.

A limp arm lays by my side as I open a clenched hand releasing time to its burden and tomorrow.
I see an impression left behind in my palm from its presence, hinting what time may reveal.


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