Going for the Sand
-----------------------
The headlights glided past
as if they were fireflies.
There were as many heading to the beach
as the ones returning.
We had risked the rush
because we needed some sand -
to plant
jamara for Dashain.
I saw from a distance-
the Ferris Wheel was packed.
We stopped at every zebra crossing
and waited furtively
as the goth-heads langarously dragged along
their black-wrapped bodies.
The kids with red hats and blue glasses
rushed forward, too close to the car.
There was no parking avaiable.
Devesh would have to drive around in circles
while I ran for a Walmart-bagfull of sand.
Instead of the beach,
I walked towards the pier:
Across the Atlantic
the freshly fallen sun
still gleamed the horizon.
Along the wooden bars of the pier
dark figures of fishermen
stood desolately;
their imminent excitement
manifest with every whirr
the wind made on their lines.
The waters were calm
and I sat there for a long time.
Devesh found me there -
without the bag or the sand -
two hours later.
The ride back home was silent.
"I had one of those mood swings," I lied.
***
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