POEMS/
 No Marked Path
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Pebble Beach at Crovie, Anne Shivas

No Marked Path
​​My true self, my aimless wanderer
-Norman MacCaig
​
I take my mother’s strong hand
on the stony beach between
Crovie and Gamrie, and lead her
between rocks and wobbly

stones, a way least hazardous,
where she can follow my foot-
steps as I once followed hers,
where, hand in hand, we collected

wee cowrie shells she kept
in matchboxes and I found
pretty red-white spotted
top shells I loved to death.

Here, where I first became
sure-footed—running leaping
laughing over rocks, a girl-
goat—now I scan the mix

of stone, rock and broken shell
for pottery shards, edges
softened from years of tidal
tumbling, not searching

for anything particular,
not on any marked path,
but knowing the shards
that are mine to pocket,

minding in hand and foot
and eye and heart
the trust in my true self— 
my mother’s gift.
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