For my mother

Under the blue heat of a day between
summer and autumn, we waded through strands
of warmth and coolness weaving around us,
through us, entered that silken flow
to drift, our hands trawling the river-bed.
Sand crumbled from the banks, our horizon
the breaker closest to shore. The tide's
pulse-beat quickened as we shaped our movements
with and against the current's force,
each new pressure to be encompassed or defied.
At last, you walked refreshed from the river
to lie beside my father, under the blue heat
while I stayed on, circling like a minnow,
edging towards the cradling, uncradling, sea.

Published in Turning the Hourglass (Dangaroo Press, 1990).