My mother loves a landscape,
from a rocky shoreline where
the salty air of a breeze
like soap cleans your insides out.
She stands mesmerized by the sight
of the sea scraping the shore
leaving behind the foamy green
of seaweed in tide pools,
and a salty taste in your mouth.
The swelling surf ceaselessly
smashes, crashes into the rocks
with a thunderous cry,
as if thrown to her fate.
What lies in the depths of that ocean?
Are there glassy white pearls to be found?
Or fanged pale creatures with gaping eyes?
I look to my mother, here to escape
the regulations of a broken hospital system
the sea of files and impatient patients,
the wave of creatures that come and go.
Her black hair blown back softly
by the steady pine-smelling breeze,
the nape of her neck wet with sweat
from traipsing among the broken boulders
like a lighthouse keeper’s daughter
she smiles at the sea with a light in her eyes.
The clouds above us often seem bigger
than the clouds in the distance.
Under the greatness of the sky,
I forget the reason for lighthouses,
and the frustrations of the long drive.
I forget how Nature can be cruel
as human nature, because
there is peace in her face.
She basks in the sunlight
making me crave to know what lies
in the depths of her mind.
Smoky Quartz 