Under the sand are palaces. I’ve seen them in my dreams: vast halls and empty chambers smoothly rounded at their seams. Every wall is made of sand. Each ceiling, archway, floor–– as though carved by master craftsmen, digging at its core–– is so magnificent, you’d think they were the stuff of lore. You may also see them, but you must provide the door.
Though the chambers are filled in, they’re there without a doubt. You are the one creating them by what you will scoop out. The beauty’s hidden in the sand, waiting in your sleep for you to dig the castles out from where they’re buried deep. All your day’s exhaustion your dream labor will abort, for what you build in slumber is work of a different sort.
Sand brought to the surface is what you get to keep of subterranean palaces dug out in your sleep. As you build aboveground castles in the world that we all know, you reveal the outward structure of the inner rooms below, furnishing the magic that the world will see through you, showing what’s inside of you by what you bring to view.
I’m going in for a medical procedure today, so no time to write a fresh poem. This is a rewrite of a poem from a few years ago that fits today’s prompt of “underground.”
The Prompt: Re-springing Your Step–Tell us about the last experience you had that left you feeling fresh, energized, and rejuvenated. What was it that had such a positive effect on you?
The Answer: Two months living on the beach in La Manzanilla really did leave me feeling energized, relaxed and a bit nostalgic. I posted some words and photos earlier here and here and here. Below is the rest of the story:
That good old salty sea air combined with grainy sand
defined my beach vacation and went great with being tanned.
Felt great under my bare feet and squished between each toe.
And left footprints behind me, wherever I chose to go.
It crusted up my toenails and powdered all my floors.
Seeped into my keyboard and creaked up all my doors.
It told the upstairs neighbors when I’d gone and got back home.
It sneaked into my ear canals and caked up brush and comb.
In spite of all the nuisance of the sand within my bed,
those memories of beach life still swirl within my head.
Yet I needn’t wax nostalgic, for I find behind each knee,
in pockets, luggage and the floor—the beach came home with me!