There are
more
colors
of sand
in little
dishes
than I
thought
possible. From
the white I know
so well through the
pinks and oranges
and reds I'm learning,
to the browns I believed
in before I came, to black.
He takes a pinch of dark brown,
drops it in a narrow necked bottle
on a tan layer already poured on top
of light brown one. His dark head is
bowed over his work and he reaches in
the bottle with a wire, touches the sand
pushes gently, pulls, releases and a camel
prances on a desert landscape. It only took
a few seconds and he repeats it all around
etching a caravan of camels prancing. With
dark fingers he tweaks up a color from a little
dish, pours another shade and another, pokes
with his thin wire patterns in the sand like
a starry night- and he packs it tightly
compressing the picture and plugs
it shut with a soft waxy substance
that hardens and we have a splendid
little memento that fits firmly in my hand.
poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab
