Beach Sand

You, the summer sunset

glistening on wet skin.

A patina of sand

and goosebumps

my fingers touched

on purpose.

Me, awkward in your

too-big sweatshirt.

Beach sand gritty,

spotted with tar,

stuck between

my toes.

Our first time

together, almost

at an end, we

sat in your car,

beach sand settling

on the floorboards.

You are thousands

of miles away. Kids

and grandkids

fill your life. But if

you walk along the ocean,

pick up beach sand,

think of me.

published in Paddler Press Volume 5, “Summer Fare,” republished on Contemplate