Silica dreams

Today I crushed my hourglass.
I crushed it barehanded, against the old wooden table,
swallowing my cries of pain when the shards pierced my skin,
teaching my blood the scent of daylight.
I then took a handful of sand smelling like my past
and sieved it slowly above a mirror,
trying to see if the mirror would break into waves there,
where I allowed the sand to touch it –
but each grain of silica was carried away by the wind,
too few touched the mirror
and none had the strength to at least scratch the shiny surface.
“So much for the ritual” I said to myself
and I gave wind my skeleton of sand to play with,
to endow it with the flesh of stray scents
exfoliated from the face of the earth –
and the wind took the toy
and split it
and twisted it
and kissed it
and then twisted it some more.
And then I was alone –
with the mirror,
rigid and mute,
and with the leftovers of my hourglass deeply planted in my own flesh,
some clots of bloody sand adorning them like petals.
The wind, however, was gone –
carrying to other lands
the perfume of my future.


© Liliana Negoi

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