Devices

A Poem

We left the devices behind

and went to Remanso one afternoon

in rainy season.

*

Lee and our older kids paddled out

past the break to the rolling deep

to wait for the waves.

*

I took the little ones

into the bathwater-warm whitewash

where Margaret, six month sold

sat in the sand, intent and focused

picking up the pebbles

examining each keenly

splashing at the sea

grabbing fistfuls of beach

tasting and feeling it all

painting her slippery salty body with silt

trembling with glee.

*

Helio, two, in his tiny speedo

absorbed himself in unearthing

pearlescent fragments of shell

to bring to his little sister

Mira, Margaretiti—look at this one—

and their big brother, Ignatius, almost five

dived confidently a little way off.

Mum, did you watch me?

Yes. Yes I did.

*

There was no mothering to do

but be there

to witness. To see.

*

And yet just once

I did have a moment of desire—

just a moment—

when I thought to myself

If only I had my phone

I could take just one…

*

Just one photograph

of her round cheeks and dimpled knees

her opulent thighs

Maybe with a snapshot I could capture

the essence of the jewel, the grail

the pith of love, the purpose—

That, right there—the picture

of her tiny toes curling into the cool soft sand

the way her little brother gently drapes his arm

around her shoulder

the light of dusk

the colour of her eyes.

*

Maybe with just an image or two, or five

I could save forever this precious swatch of

substance, emotion

the glory of it, the triumph of

how present we are

right now

of how inexorably beautiful it is

to inhabit this ineffable instance.

*

And, of course, just as that idea

unravelled in my head

so the grains of time slipped

through the fingers of my mind

streaming through the hourglass

washed out on the tide

as the sun broke

into a red-gold blaze

dusting us with radiance

and the knowing that we only had

fifteen or so minutes now

to gather up our towels and chinelas and

*

walk up the path

to the truck before night fell.

*

And so, instead of a reel, or a portrait

or a selfie

*

All I have are these watercolour words

Still, Life.

I really debated whether to post this photo (isn’t it lovely?) In the end, though, I think it’s proper to prove unabashedly that I too am a hypocrite—I really am—although I promise this particular image was taken on a different beach day altogether, months ago. And no, I won’t stop with my obsessive documentation—I’m grateful for the phone—but leaving it at home from time to time and reverting to the word is a relief.