I walk along the shore. A dark orphic symphony arises from deep within the ocean. A sadness, unfathomable. My daughter wanders near, her skin, ribbons of energy glistening and flickering in the white hot sun. She flies above me with the swallow-tailed kite, she rides the surface of waves.

The tide rolls in unevenly, slapping against my skin as if to say, tag, you’re it, and then retreats back to mother, leaving its cold wet handprint on me as she once did. Small baby hands, sticky with ice pops and finger paints waving to be washed away. Washed away, vanished, disappeared, into unnavigable waters.

I walk along the shore and whisper to the sea, mother of all mothers, serenely mystical, treacherous and fearsome, womb of creation, I’m full of holes where she was torn from the flesh of my soul! Tell me, how do you bury your young? I freeze in a silent scream, “I want my daughter back!”

Then a tiny shell so full of light it could reel in my focus from the mouth of the ocean to where I stand alights on my foot . I bend and retrieve a perfectly-shaped heart. Stunned. Speechless. Did I walk this path to receive this single gift? Looking back. Time is trackless here. The sand holds no memory and moments unfold at a frenetic pace. Footprints vanish as tiny fragments of crushed shell, once home to the fragile, are pulled to the surface and pushed into a new arrangement of impermanence.

I walk along the shore, but she is forever rooted in my heart.

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1 Comment

  1. Nancy Mura Reply

    Lisa Lawston is a magical writer that paints indelible pictures on your soul.

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