I've been worriting at this one, so here it is again.

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 mossed
with abandonment, lived-in empty houses either side.
We only stopped at the end and granite sea.

There was a broken pier, and tied to it
a boat. Big enough for ocean voyage,
it was sudden and red, stark
against a Scotland dusking sky.

I looked to you for explanation
but you did not look back.
There was recognition in your admiring eyes
and a longing for her and for the sea.

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