Soiled Meat and Sand

I am soiled meat and sand.

Bruised by my own clumsiness and the abuse of life, I will gain more bruises. I welcome them. They are a reminder of my mortality, my vessel, and the world as it is.

I am strong compacted sand from generations of marching forward in spite of tragedy, harshness, and confusion. I feel these generations pushing me forward. These tragedies tinge the sand with petroleum and grime if you dig deep enough, if you know where to look.

I am imported sand, like the kind I grew up with in Eagle Dock. The child of immigrants…