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Poet Commentaries

A Pinch of Sand

I am never quite sure how my family members, workers, and so many people like them that I meet inspire poetry.  I think it is because they are poetry translated to breath.  

I got to talk with my worker at length yesterday.  There is no way that I could tell you how encouraging and revitalizing this conversation was.  It would be a book and few people would be able to sit still long enough to read.  Good people are like that.

There is a temptation here in fact to dissect why it was good but I give here only one key point.  “It is mesmorizing how he can hold the note of proper tense with such perfect tone and pitch  His voice does not crack or falter with yesterdays and tomorrows.  There are no quivering regrets or false notes of grandly schemed hopes; he needs neither.”

The poem I include below was written two days ago.  I liked it then and did not feel like changing it.  There was just something right about it, a good feel. When I read it today before reflecting on yesterday I was thrilled with how it was a summary of my joy talking to him. How it is in a perfect tense and perspective.  None of this was purposed I can assure you.

A Pinch of Sand

A pinch of sand
soaked in backwash
on the bottom
of my tin cup
My initials carved
with what piss I have,
a watermark
in grainy vellum;
sucked so deep
that only God
can pick the sheet up,
turn it in the light
and see my mark.

 

Up and down trodden
I pack and unsettle
leaving no trace
but fuzzy footprints;
the soles telltale knicks, scars
and Nike slash
just undefined stamps.

Between finger and thumb
the wet sand rolled,
the dollop dropped
in an impression
and dusted over.
I bid my farewell
adjust my hat
and set a course
to the next mirage.

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