Cold, winter-dark blue,
the bay today, polka-dotted with white caps.
Oars creak as I row,
damp salt wind blows,
I’ve had nothing to eat,
feel a coal burning a hole in my gut.
Church bells carry over the bay
on the salty, winter wind,
from my old white church
where I sang in the summer choir
wearing my one summer dress - -
blue and white polka dot.
hidden by my black gown and surplice.
We lived in bathing suits and jeans.
I found the fish hook the other day,
on the church steps.
The rector said it was okay
to keep it, “It is good luck,” he said.
I found some string, tied
it to the fishhook, got the old dory
into the water.
The neighbors aways left it under a tarp for the winter.
It’s where I sleep since I got downsized.
My parents are building homes
for poor people in Europe.
I’ll drop anchor here,
drop the line too.
It tugs like a kite - a flounder
by the tail....and another -- a
dozen or more, some by the mouth,
some hooked on their fins.
The wind is coming up.
Waves splash into the dory.
Is that somebody
walking on the water towards
me? No es posible, Senor.
I pull the dory onto the beach with
the high tide. I’ve got a driftwood
fire now, and hot, cooked flounder.
The stained glass windows at the old, white church glow
in the night. Heavenly Christmas music
flow on the cold air. I’ll go
over there. I’ll share my