Sand Poet

Ah, summer…do we fully enjoy the beauty of it? This week, I present a poem that I wrote from a memory of my younger nephew when he was still freshly new to physical experience. It’s a kind of companion piece to Glad for the Day, which I wrote about my older nephew. I hope you take the time to delight in it — life, summer, family, the poem, or all of the above.

Sand Poet

 

The baby, in the sandbox,

sitting cooing quiet on a summer’s day,

focuses slowly on the newness

of the sunlit world.

 

Then, of a sudden,

with quick little sips of breath,

the baby dips his hand in sand,

burrowing deep beneath the cool hiddenness,

waiting, breathless, eyes full of seeing, then,

lifts the back of his outstretched hand up

into the sun. The golden light catches

each tiny grain as he holds still the marvel

in his sight, such wonder opens eyes and mouth

wide, full of believing. And with the first knowing

of an infant, he raises his arm to higher slant

until all the grains come sliding down,

silver, gold, sparkling,

a starry fall of warm delight

sliding along his skin…

He gasps through baby lips,

poetry sweet and pure,

his soul full of beauty.

 

And then he does it again.

 

© 2019 Christina Chase

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Photo by A.R.T.Paola on Unsplash