Tiny glass spheres

Each with a small burst

Of vivid colour

I see my whole life

Reflected in these miniature globes

As a child

Flicking them across the hot sand

Claiming them from other children

With raucous laughter and shouts of ‘I’m the winner!’

As a teen

Coming across them when I cleaned out my room

Rolling them absentmindedly in my palm

And thinking of simpler times

As an adult

Older, but not any wiser

Watching my children play with them

As I once did

And now, as an old man

Staring at them on the wooden table

Each one seems like an insurmountable task

Slowly I raise my trembling fingers

Fumble, and drop them to the floor

Where they clatter with a mournful sound

This poem is about someone who suffered a stroke and has to pick up marbles as part of his physical therapy. He ends up musing about the different roles marbles have played in his life

Ashley Sia

1 Purity

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