Walking Along the Seashore Without My Mother

The old negative of her  
with her hair pinned back
I hold up to the horizon and 
see it fade into the waves.
It was the one taken 
through the filtered 
window of her black car,
her face half in night 
and half in day.
Behind, I hear the echo 
of the sand cave.
In front, the roar 
of swirl and foam
claiming her 
the sun and sea’s
possession.
Her last letter to me
floats free from 
my back pocket.
Her gentle 
pictogram writing
reverses over and over
with that shadow caricature
she drew of me months back-
the last animated flash 
until there’s 
nothing 
left of her
but 
the small 
light 
inside.