Iris

15

The Glass of Water and Sand

Clink.
Tendrils of kelp gently tickle my ankles
the way drops of condensation caress the sides
of a glass of refreshing iced tea--
a hint of citrus the bright zing
that complements the rays of sunshine
sparkling across the azure stretch of ocean.
Clink.
The ice crackles softly, the sound nearly drowned out by
the ocean’s repeating chorus of inhalation and exhalation--
“Crack-eline du Pré,” my dad jokingly dubs the quiet symphony.
(It’s a glorious but tragically short-lived occurrence--a fitting name.)
With each subtle crack, the disturbed ice taps delicately against the cup.
Clink.
But the warm sand between my toes is the very same sand
that trickles through the hourglass of summertime.
So now, to this ever-exalted season, I raise my glass for a toast
in the hopes that this time,
this time--
summer will last for just a little bit longer.
Clink.