The Last Visit
Remembering the last visit with my mother
On the other side of the Pacific,
I brush salty tears under
Tangled sea-swept hair.
Twenty years ago at the Oregon coast
Pale legs slung over bleached logs,
We looked to the water--
Sipping coffee, toes digging
For common ground in the cold sand.
The waves did not stop.
We did not recognise the hourglass,
The endless oceanic energy
Beckoning, calling her home.
Last weekend I watched the waves
Wear away tiny footprints,
Flooding remnants of the low-lying castle
My children built before running, laughing
From the swirling surf.
Sand and wind polish my scars.
Warmth turns sand to glass
And particles to pearls.
Copyright © Hannah Cutting-Jones | Year Posted 2016
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