Waiting for the Silver

Even though I was delightfully tired and eager to check into the Duwamish Inn, it was such a lovely night and I loathed to go inside. I decided on the spur of the moment to walk down to the water's edge. It was misting lightly by the time I got there and the fishing boats were tied up in a row, rocking gently, and creaking on their ropes.

Waiting for the Silver

Rocking gently at their moorings,
water lapping at their hulls.
Holds empty now,
fishers resting,
waiting…
Dreaming of the
shimmering harvest yet to come.

Salty spray adorning masts,
scales like stars upon the decks.
Clanking chains,
rusty anchors,
stinking bait.
Voices raised
as nets and ropes bloody hands.
Crews, wet and cold,
harvesting the sea.

Rocking gently at their moorings,
water lapping at their hulls.
Holds empty now,
fishers resting,
waiting,
dreaming of tomorrow's catch.

Vi
©September 17, 2005