Mother

 

I find you washed up,

a small shell

royal blue in lustre,

a sparkling inside

for mothering pearls.

Pounded by the waves,

powered by the moon,

half of you is missing, or parted.

 

Rough edges from battering

are smoothed and formed,

you shine with your own colour,

the scooped bands on your body

mark years on this earth,

tossed in time to the tide.