NOTHING THERE

 

There is nothing at the beach,
apart from the sand of course,
and a few ducks, and the sea,
and some rocks covered with weed.

Nothing today,
except what’s washed in with the driftwood,
and an upturned boat with its oars
and a mother watching her child clamber
and then cry on the cliff bottom rocks.

I go most days,
walk out across the changing texture of the sands
taking my old shoulder bag
for mussels and paua.

And as I walk back through the meadow today
picking daisies on my way home,
I am thinking how much I like the beach
How there is almost nothing there
that reminds me of you.