Listen, if my word’s worth anything,
stop getting and spending for half a minute.
Even I do it sometimes; I’m not all business.
Seize the day. Put your phone down, stow
your briefcase, catch a few rays. The sea breeze
is vivid. Sifting through my digits, this sand
distracts me from the hourglass. I can play
volleyball all morning, harmonica this afternoon.
I catch a thousand waves. Nothing beats timing
the tides just right to find a fortune in sand
dollars before the striped umbrellas vanish
and shadows crepe the strand, before every last
Before expires, and all that’s left is After.
Kathleen Winter is the author of three poetry collections, “Transformer” (Word Works), “I will not kick my friends” and “Nostalgia for the Criminal Past” (both Elixir Press)
Content from our partners
Related
This article appears in the 26 Jan 2022 issue of the New Statesman, The Light that Failed