Erosion: Part 2



My friends ask me why I care so much

about sand


My father asks why I do not analyze my theories under a microscope


My mother says, “You think that’s big…

…wait ‘til you look at tide pools!”


I ask myself, why the incoming waves are genocidal

But dumping a block of sodium into the gorge

and watching the walls crumble

is fun.


Like a pencil to a wooden desk,

the graphite of my mind smears dark streaks onto walls

painted over until

it’s graffiti to me.

I hold a bead of sand between my thumb and forefinger

rolling gently, wondering if it can get any smaller


tiny enough to clog a pore and large enough to taste between your teeth

it plays its part anonymously.

Yet,             back on the beach, I feel the ocean kidnapping each grit beneath my feet


and I hear screaming.

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