Curved glass warps the world around me
as I sit within the bottom half of an hourglass
that has slowly filled up over time.
I remember when the trickle began,
I alone in my glass encasement
stepping neatly aside as the sand fell through
grain by grain, I could ignore it as it piled
scrunching my toes in it, making castles
until it had risen above my ankles,
rough and everywhere.
I realized the flow’s speed had increased
and I was being swept away.
I could wipe and swat the sand from my body
only to watch it pile up around my thighs,
my waist, my chest.
I had ignored the constant drizzle,
a nuisance at first, now a full blown concern.
Soon I could not move.
Sand encircled me and held me,
and all I could see was the top half of a distorted image
as the sand rapidly swelled around my mouth and nose
suffocating me, merciless.
It is dark within sand,
dark and gritty.
Air escapes in a way my cries could not,
and when I had all but succumbed to the sand,
my world was flipped.
Eventually I will be freed from the hold of the sand
I mourn as it happens, for the marks will never disappear.
I wrote this back on October 4th. I have been staring at it and don’t know where to take this.