The ocean is a blue cliché,
The pink sunset a rough-edged neon light through the smog.
Sand and seaweed scuff my toes in the tender spots,
Pillow the tough heels of my wave-buried feet and
Slowly cover my ankles.
There is sand everywhere,
On my face and hands,
Carried by the waves onto my clothes,
Even in the air as it is flung back,
Back into the sea that will toss and churn it
And round the sharper grains
So that some child's small pink feet
Will one day feel them,
Soft under the soft-skinned toes
Of one not even thought of yet
On our sand grain of a world.
Copyright © 1994 by Katherine Foreman.
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