Golden Grains of Memory

“take off your shoes and walk to the sea,” I said to my son he was the same age I left my city – seven

I stayed at the shore in the shoes of my mother watched the sons walking in the golden grains

did not have the towel my mother had waiting for me to come off the water and walk back

never needed that towel, the sand fell off my feet by itself never dirt, never mud, not like any other playground

“OK, come to me now,” I said to my son he came off the water and walked back he came off my memory and claimed the fact he came off my childhood and became himself

there we were – seven, forty-seven his feet were clean, cleaned the wound of my aching soul my son inheriting this gold for generations long never dirt, never mud, not like any other passing on

no need for towel –

Nafia Akdeniz