ORNAMENTATION
I remember how happy we were digging the beach.
We positioned our spades at first vertically; they slanted off like rain forgetting how to scrape straight as the hole deepened.
Sounds like spring rain or roses, a clattering pine branch against our window the rain the slanting rain boring into your eyes.
Made you look like you were crying.
When we had a good pile we’d cup our fingers at opposite sides of it scraping scraping through until we joined, damply twining and scratching, in the centre.
Missed often ended up staring blankly over the top as the curve of our elbows pulled us through.
Eventually pink dark-edged nails would emerge in opposition and reach for air, gasping little blind moles.
Five or six tunnels later we would get cocky, pull up too sharp.
Arm outlined reaching up round through the sand back on itself: a collapse.
The shape closed abandoned sticks flexible with sea and looped round twice a flag a useless ornament.
We come back later. The stick washed away an indentation remains.
I remember how happy we were digging the beach.
We positioned our spades at first vertically; they slanted off like rain forgetting how to scrape straight as the hole deepened.
Sounds like spring rain or roses, a clattering pine branch against our window the rain the slanting rain boring into your eyes.
Made you look like you were crying.
When we had a good pile we’d cup our fingers at opposite sides of it scraping scraping through until we joined, damply twining and scratching, in the centre.
Missed often ended up staring blankly over the top as the curve of our elbows pulled us through.
Eventually pink dark-edged nails would emerge in opposition and reach for air, gasping little blind moles.
Five or six tunnels later we would get cocky, pull up too sharp.
Arm outlined reaching up round through the sand back on itself: a collapse.
The shape closed abandoned sticks flexible with sea and looped round twice a flag a useless ornament.
We come back later. The stick washed away an indentation remains.