Reminiscing

Layed out on a soft, soon to be itchy towel, as little grains of sand grabbed onto my skin like tree sap. Casually burning holes into my tan, childish self, duplicating each pore and making my flesh home. I didn’t even notice, seeing nothing but orange, my eyes trapped behind the dizzying movement of invisible lights. I stayed there, not for much longer, only eventually forced alive by the sizzling of disappearing sunscreen and sausages on the barbeque. Big bellied and with water dripping down my chin, I searched for rescue in my mothers arms, nestling deep in her cold, watered hands. If only I’d been grown from the dirt, a seed planted deep underground among the critters and water pipes. If my roots had grown in fertile land, beneath an ocean’s worth of rainclouds, sucking the very last droplet up myself like a child retrieving his stolen toy from the frail hands of his newly made friend. I may have grown stronger then, greener, surrounded by pines and sweetgums, ravishing in the floods, thriving in the cold. I was not built to withstand the warmth; my blood has always been much too hot.