respite

in the chair that was my mother's
I can see the ocean.
I can hear the waves crash on the sand
and the gulls as they dive.
I can smell the salt-
taste it as it breezes past my face.
sitting here-
in the chair that was my mother's
my body sinking into the worn patches
making deeper the dents on the arms
curled up in it,
pushing into the cushions that used to push back.
I can see all of it from here.
I can see all of it.
Leaning into my knees
with the blanket drawn tight around my waist
I can see everything.
and I find that I am strangely addicted to vanilla roobois tea