Greenpatch Beach

mothers sisters daughters
spring warmth bickering
with the summer sun

our day went softly, walking
on feather clouds, raised
images an artist's book

the pages from that day
overlaid with tempera
resonating stillness

structure, you might say.
Lines taken for a walk
through generations, women

close knit with texture.

You held her arm, steady
her grandchildren beside

at last; we arrived back
at the car, left behind
the sea, distilled waves

soft wash of sea—horse tails
butterfly kissed the shore
stretched canvas tight
before them—Greenpatch.

Your Dreamtime Spirits
shone; shine; flaunt
Port Jackson sharks

who sweep the rock ledge
with innocent tails, below
baubles of spring weed

miniature bubble bladders
adrift on that ancient tide.

But now I wonder, like those
sea-horses we came upon
when snorkelling you turn
and point for a sister's
eyes to share but pushing
against the current
when you look back
they are gone.

Next year's spring tide;
then could we do this day Alone?

Elanna Lowes