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The Fish

Water is for me to breathe
like the rain is for the bay to sip.
Washing, screaming.
For they are tears of fishermen
and tears of wives and mothers.
Bodies soaked and bodies forgotten
still boiling in the great big blue.
It could have been me, he thought,
hanging on a fishermans string
for the shells to dry in the burning sun.




Fri vers (Prosapoesi) av Hanna Winnerby
Läst 47 gånger och applåderad av 2 personer
Publicerad 2023-05-14 22:09



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Hanna Winnerby