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Sand Poet

sand, sandbox, 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


Photo by A.R.T.Paola on Unsplash

Christina Chase View All

There once was a cripple…
who wasn't afraid to acknowledge that she was a cripple or to share her life of wonder, struggles, sorrow, and joy with perfect strangers. Here I am.
Join me as I explore the reality of divine love in the flesh, reflecting on what it means to be fully human, fully alive.

One thought on “Sand Poet Leave a comment

  1. Ah, yes, sweet innocent summer life.

    Some images that catch hold and stay with me:: “quick little sips of breath,” “eyes full of seeing,” “a starry fall of warm delight” — well, all of it, really. Beautiful poem!

    Liked by 1 person

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