The beach is swept by lavender shadows
that stroke the traces of memories left
by restless waves seeking sanctuary
in the sculptured rock. Silence is broken
by the bear cubs who wrestle playfully
with the children of tourists. They encroach
upon the sand, trailing refuse from town
unaware of the consequences, both.
You and I turn our gaze to the ocean
knowing, praying the mother will come soon.
There is no help, nothing for us to do.
The signs are there. History is written.
Her fur is dense and warm and smells of earth.
Her touch opens the passageway for rain.
Her breath tears open the gateway to fear.
The lavender shadow exposes truth.
The stars are lit upon the ocean’s sky,
tiny sparks of hope a thousand years gone,
as we step into the sea – the cool sea
dancing with light between the dark prisms
that whisper danger in the feasting hour.
From the depths she emerges between us,
gracefully feeling her way through the waves
and bearing us through the eons to come,
mother and daughter and father and son.
While on the shore the hordes arrange themselves
in the sand, buying spaces on dead trees,
eating fried potatoes dipped in red sauce
and rejoicing in the bathwater foam
left by a fevered sea, she slips from view.
She slips into the blue taking with her
a thousand years of starlight on her skin.
She slips along my fingers, immense, strong
beneath the surface, promising nothing
but hope for those who live in lavender
shadows, in tiny spaces on the shore,
waiting for the mother’s touch, breathlessly.
© 2011 Alexandra Lucas/SilverGenes. All rights reserved
Photo: Anita Ritenour