Everyone one of them I couldn’t hold –

The first was like honey;
Sweet, lingering,
Slowly, sloppily, dripping off my fingers
As I realized I could no longer hold it.
Even as it slipped,
The sticky residue remained.
I’ve washed and washed a hundred times over
And still find the first one –
Sticky in all tiny creases I was sure I had scrubbed.

The second – sand.
I held closely to each grain,
Praying I could keep them,
Praying they’d magically solidify into something I could clutch;
Something I could keep.
The second slipped away,
Grain by grain,
Now there’s just the scent that I sometimes catch.

The third… is inconclusive.
The third appeared solid
But then quickly slipped away the second I tightened my hands around it
To keep it close.
3 comes back to me the second I am fine with its absence,
Until I try to grasp it –
My hands left restless and searching.

But am I meant to find something to hold?
Or am I meant to only have the residue,
The lingering,
Of all that once was,
And now is,
Me.

(a.g.)