The Boy Whose Body Became Sand
Once upon a midnight rhyme
There was a boy whose body became sand
So come and listen to the story of mine
Of how often nothing goes according to plan
Our story begins with the boy emerging from a bath
To find his flesh and bone had become compacted into wet sand
He was shocked and dismayed and faced with the task
Of trying to inform his mother, downstairs on dry land
He slopped his way to the bathroom door
Leaving grains behind with every crumbling shuffle
Until he reached the handle and shouted to the ground floor,
"Mommy, I think that I'm in trouble!"
And as any good and dutiful mother should
She came rushing up to attend to her baby
When she saw him, she kept her composure as best she could
And did her utmost not to begin shrieking terribly
It was her job to take care of him
And even this would not deter her from her place
For even though this child rearing wasn't what might have been
That boy made of sand was hers, never to be replaced
So when the boy looked up at her, cracked mouth wobbling
She ushered him back to the bath, saying “Come now,
We’ll get you fixed up, there’s no need for crying.”
And put him back in the bath before his body could break down
She called every doctor and specialist she could find
To come and examine the strange case of her child
But time after time, they told her the bottom line
Was they knew nothing, they had nothing like this on file
And time after time, the mother assured the boy
That she loved him despite whatever comes their way
And the doctors could snip and fumble and be coy
But he was hers to cherish, no matter what they say
All this time, the mother worked to keep her boy in one piece
Adding water when he became too dry
Not too much, lest the surface tension preserving him cease
And never once did she let him see her cry
Despite her every effort, the boy’s body was deteriorating
A handful of grains washed away with every pat of liquid
The very thing meant to keep him alive and breathing
Breaking him down, in a manner most frustrating and insipid
His mother tried to ship in more sand
But all of it refused to stick to the boy
It formed in the bottom of the tub a band
Of grains that sought to drain all of their joy
For what could the mother do?
Except wait and watch and wait again as her child fell apart
In the very house he used to play in and run through
Were they doomed from the very start?
And soon, the boy began to ask things of his mother
Maybe discerning her own fog of hopelessness
He would lay one coarse hand atop hers
That resting on the edge of the bathtub, his fortress
He would say, “When I get better, do you want to go see the world?
I’m so sick of this bathtub and would like to go to an amusement park,
Or go to the moon and see the sunrise unfurl,
Maybe even just go get ice cream when it’s rainy and dark?”
And his mother smiles and nods
For she will never let him see her weep
She tells him, “I like the sound of that, Todd,”
And if she could, she would sweep him off his feet
The boy whose body became sand
Was losing the body he had been cursed with
And his mother could only watch, unable to comprehend
Wondering if, for some unknowable sin, this was her tithe
