1 minute read
Lorraine Caputo
Río Caribe
With this other morning’s rain, the waters heave & sigh. The clouds pass into the mountains swooping down to the Caribbean.
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A fisherman returns to port & lays anchor. Pelicans bob on boats & crowd on the concrete leggings of the once-pier.
In the stone market stalls along the wharf, pescadores shout their offerings, showing today’s catch glinting in the weak sunlight.
On the tan beach rest launches green, orange or blue, trimmed in white. Nearby boys toss in lines. With a bite, one pulls his in, silver fish writhing.
Another compañero of the cooperative comes in. Colleagues toss down bins into which wiggling fish are scooped with thick hands.
The rain washes in waves against palm & almond trees & pools in the road. Barefoot fishermen return home. One of seablue eyes looks at me as we pass.
