Standing by the car,
opposite the dock,
I look out.
“We used to come here all the time.
Remember?”
A breeze brushes past my cheeks
and the sea’s gentle rhythm
settles in my ears.
Lips purse into a grim smile,
“Not really . . . Sorry.”
A post appears, before rickety steps
and I pause for a second.
“It’s one way, Mammy,
you need to follow the man.
Go round this side.”
Moments from another life,
Maybe something’s in there after all.
Soon my toes find purchase in cool sand
and I search in vain for some familiar sight,
finding none.
Disappointment stings,
all the more bitter
for its likelihood.
We’ve spun 10 times round the sun
since my feet last touched this sand.
I’ve doubled in height alone,
what other outcome could be expected?
Yet, still, I tuck away the sliver of regret
for another day.
The walk is nice but short.
The dog enjoys it, at least.
I nod when Mam asks to go back,
privately glad and secretly guilty for it.
I turn and halt,
mid-step.
The new view enough to make
my breath catch.
Suddenly I am both six and 16,
And caught in some strange limbo between.
Sat on Dad’s shoulders,
with two tired little feet,
plucking nonsense from sea air
of pirates in submarines
and mermaids with seaweed for hair.
Now, my arms linked with Mam,
our strides keep pace with the waves,
treading along the foot-beaten path.
Two pictures overlap in my mind,
one familiar outline becoming clear.
The sky above St Helen’s
is streaked with pink and blue,
and in the bay a shining half-moon.
How many times have I seen this?
How many times have I missed it without knowing?
As we three walk back to our car,
I feel a puzzle piece slot into place
somewhere deep inside.
A hole I didn’t realise was empty.
It’s a little like coming home.
