Not long ago I sat here with my mother.

Just looking at the waters was

enough, she said.

Now, I feel the breath of life

rise and fall with the ripples of the bay,

see the Golden Gate slip into darkness

as the gulls cry.

Men ready their boats for rest.

Clouds drift, thin wisps tufted with pale yellow.

Moon slivers out.

Night settles our lives.

I breathe in my

mother’s words, breathe

in the breath she gave me,

give it back now to the bay.

∞

From the Spring 1995 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 11, No. 2)

Text © 1995–2020 by Dan Clurman