Swept Away

a poem about liminal space

When a single grain of sand 
is swept away from the others;
when the river takes hold and 
it tumbles
off of the sandbar 
into the water.

I wonder:

Does it fret 
about what’s left behind,
and where it will land?

Does it put up a useless fight
hustling to get back to where it was, 
before—a place that no longer exists
exactly as remembered.

Does it search desperately for a map
even though its destination is unknown? 
Lament its sudden lack of control,
tightly close its eyes,
muttering “This must be a dream”?

Or does it float along, 
noting the way the sunlight
sparkles on the surface, 
listening for the song of the birds,
watching for the first signs of spring
along the river banks?

Does it stick out its hand and wave
merrily greeting those along the way,
tilting its head back, 
tipping it up to the sun,
embracing the unknown
living in the liminal space
in between where it left
and where it’s going?