Eastbourne Kicking the pebbles along Eastbourne beach
as the orange-pink of sunset plays with the ebbing tide
my mother asks… “What do you want to do when you’re older?” There is every colour of pebble beneath my
feet grey lumps of flint winking their sharp shining
cores, gritty ovals of sandstone pregnant with fossils,
worn amulets of glass of every sparkle. They crunch and shift under synced steps
as we stroll, towels wrapped around sand-dusted bodies.
The sea singing with the pebbles, knocking a tone from each
forming a hushing melody. Sunbursts dip into the wispy clouds,
bounce from the greens, blacks and purples of the rock pools,
shine red and gold and white from the sea There is every colour in the sun. My baby sister toddles alongside my grandmother
the years between them like the ghosts of waves already ebbed
and the years to come like the promise of tides
as their silhouettes whisper in the sunshine. “What do I want to be when I’m older?” The question bounces around my head
like light and wind and water and time and I smile… “I don’t know”.