Lifeline The grains of sand, so large, not grains, so much as tiny stones, revealing the passing of time in waves across shores, like the lines of my ancestors reaching across my forehead. A history. A memory of mountains, dunes, the skeleton of a world pounded into pieces that spill between my fingers rough and smooth, slipping off my daughter’s knees as the light hits her fine blonde hairs she sprinkles them like glitter, like magic, while I trace the pattern of life turning over.
Eve Kagan is a trauma-informed therapist, educator, and theatre-artist. Her poetry is forthcoming in Eunoia Review; her personal essays and short stories have been published in various journals and anthologies, including HuffPost, Role Reboot, Mothering through the Darkness, and Dark City Lights. She lives in Boulder, Colorado.