Two Sticky Quarters for 18 Minutes of Peace

Isn’t it funny

How year after year

You must learn again how to walk

On the sand by the sea-side?


By the time you can frollick

Not a doubt in the world

As if this were your natural state

Summer draws to a close

And you must leave the coast.


Your skin forgets the breeze

Your tongue, the salt-water taste

Your eyes, the limitless horizon.

Your mind remembers, but only offers vague memories.


School, work, the “real world”

resumes as if Providence pressed play.

Jerky and mute at first,

The gears finding their rhythm.


We are not the only ones to forget.

The sands forget too.

Once loose and free,

tossed about in play.


Young architects, old dogs, couples of every age,

Names, dates, masterpieces painted

As if with a calligrapher’s brush

All leaving their eternally brief mark.


The sand settles,

No more castles, or trenches

No more loungers, or sunbathers

Only the steady beat of the waves.


The sand dries up.

Hardens from disuse.

Not so different from the dessserts

With their untouched reaches.


It too forgets how to play.

How to fly free in the breeze.

How J + T were in love here.

Cracks soon show its loneliness.


Just when all hope seems lost.

When school’s tests seem to win

When work is its most mundane

When the sand becomes hard as rock…


The first step…

The first clumsy, stumbling,

Forgetful, childlike step…


Breaking through the sand

Releasing all memories and tension.

Freeing a year’s worth of defeat,

Stress, weariness, and grief.


Summer returns again…


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