on the edge, poem 31

At the border, on the waterfront, on the beach,
a calm salt surf kisses our slippers
of brocade and gold thread slightly
damp from the cool moist sand.
We stand together, three of us, looking
out across the water towards a far
shore that is without more than
an image in our memories of two,
and a storied fantasy for the third
sister, conceived at home but born
after our journey had begun.
We hold her between us,
our youngest, our sweetness,
our treasured hope and worry.
The sisters, we three,
muse to our own survival, stalk
these shores in the evening
and again in the hours before dawn,
searching in those magic moments
for a way across to take our child home.