I see her every morning on her way to business

Printed cloth around her legs, a red blouse

Carrying her basket of old fish, listless

She is, listless. She is fisherwoman-

Listless until her first fish has gone away.


I see her mid-day on her way from business

Printed cloth dead from the dust, red blouse

Redder from her sweat- sweet scent of toil;

She is fisherwoman-


Fisherwoman in her kisses

Red lips from her green leaves of betel

Chewed like prayer every day.

Fisherwoman in her sickness

Toenails polished with dirt

Hard skin on her neck

She is fisherwoman, born one

Lived one

And died a fisherwoman. woman

One Response to Fisherwoman

  1. sunny johnson says:

    You gives us a true picture of a fisherwoman. marvellous!!

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