People who live here, he said, live with their backs to the sea.
And I said, how could anyone turn their backs to the sea?
And I thought of mum, before she was hauled away, saying,
I want to go back to the sea again,
how she sounded like Miranda the mermaid who had strayed
from her home
but when she got her wish, when we got her into a retirement home
on the esplanade, she grew jaded.
What’s wrong, mum? we asked.
I want to go home, she said. I want to go back where I lived with dad.
But you’ve got a ringside seat, mum, to the Southern Ocean. A view to die for.
It’s not the same, she said, not when you see the same thing day after day.
But we sat with her, watching the red sun sit on the lip of the horizon like a wafer,
the seabirds flying home, and a kind of calm settled on her.