My Mother Showed Me Limpets

I spent my childhood summers on the Croatian coast,
where the sea was my mother’s home.
I grew up in her embrace,
with feet tangled in salty waves,
where salt did not sting her but healed.

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Now grown, I return to that same shore,
feet in the sea, watching the sun disappear,
pleading for healing, for salt to mend my wounds
as it once mended hers.

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I observe the limpets, steadfast on their rocks,
unshaken by the crashing waves,
they kiss and make love,
while I, feeling vulnerable,
struggle against the sea’s attempts to move me.

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I admire the limpet’s firm grip,
its strength and determination,
seeking what it holds that I seem to lack.
I sit in the shallow water, clutching the rocks,
and recall my mother’s unwavering resolve,
standing firm despite the sea’s force.

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I remember how the waves drove her to her knees,
yet she, with me in her arms, learned to love the sea.
What were struggles became gentle caresses,
and she remained strong, nurtured by its power.

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Returning to the Croatian coast each summer,

I still seek balance in the shallow water,
struggling for the resolve my mother had.
May the saltwater embrace my wounds once more, may it heal me.