A fairly heavy-handed reworking...still in progress.

Just one of the ways in which I have become my mother

I have never been a boat person
but the pull of the sea had us both that day
as we set off downhill. The road was soft
with abandonment we were keen for.
We only stopped at the sudden end and granite sea.

There was a broken pier, we crept on it, and by it
a boat. It was red wood and shining, stark
against a Scotland dusking sky.
There was familiarity in your eyes.

The waves were unalarmed, only darkening,
and they marked a calm end for us then.
Your face was blue with sky, and my hands
followed suit. I don’t remember words.
The hill home was left to climb and we climbed it.