Blue-gray mystery rippling beneath the opaque haze.
Waves crashing up against the protruding rock,
creating blasts of sea spray,
and churning white froth in whirls along the water’s edge.
Hawks and seagulls are surfing the storm surge above.
Salty rain drops bead down my cheeks like mama’s pearls.
An iridescent beauty that has been possessed and used, yet largely forgotten.
The kind of beauty that comes from swallowing pain,
transforming residue into hope.
The kind of beauty that comes from embracing scraps and silt leftover from generations before.
Mama’s tears are my tears.
She rocks me in her alchemy,
nourishing my tender heart,
and singing the Tao.