Polaroids of your mother’s hands. They look youthful. Now they shake in a frail manner. Veins lining her knuckles bluer than the ocean. I want to crash in those waves. Have them hold me again. Drift to sleep like the sea. Calm waters greet me. No fear of learning how to swim. Gently washing up to shore. Make a home in the sand and claim it for all things good. Salt water only comes from the sea and not our tears. Not for now. Just peace. -AMT ©️