Search
Sand
- Marissa Karcher
- Feb 15, 2024
- 1 min read
Why can’t I be the soft
sand, comforting and cleansing
you, keeping the beach
renewed and repaired—grainy
and constantly changing.
The hermit crab holes under
me. A sun ray on a baking day.
The surfer, the worn down street, the conch shell,
once listened to, not knowing if the tides were truly being heard—
and you.
Comments