Catharina Boer

Repelled in time, we are:
little wooden houses behind crude stones
against the sea, fishermen who graze
the bottom, deep abrasion to survive.

Excited men, drew the little boat
to the coast, even women lash
the nets and ropes, cheer when
the catch pour upon the beach.

They perceive us . We look at their
happiness, are not there. We, distant,
shoot snapshots of their willing laugh
and quick woman fingers, sorting

the fish by size on mats till sundry
as their weathered skin, Than
we see their eyes, open their shell grit
dirty hands for some rupiah’s.

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