I sit on the rocks and watch the tide go out.
My mother has died.
She has been dragged away from me,
Like the waves heaved back by the moon.
Along moving platforms, I’m conveyed,
Shell-shocked, forward, always forward.
I must move on, leaving her behind.
Pain swells like the surf.
Summer time and a small girl plays on a bridge.
Delighted, she watches her stick, swept along by the current.
I observe. Fleeting thoughts, memories,
Dart across my mind, then away.
In August, my family gathers beneath nodding boughs.
She is missing. Seeds fall like rain.
On the branches are a few brown leaves, like tell-tale grey hairs.
Nothing, in this life, is constant.