Another's Day's Catch

Rowing through the ebony stillness of watery womb in sustenance
he watches through earlier morning weary eyes,
children sleeping in trust father will feed their stomachs,
wife stares at him from the window
weeps from hunger over two days he's failed to fill his nets.

She wipes away the tears and remembers seasons
when his catch nearly sunk his boat.
Putting another stick in the fire pit
to help her teapot boil,
prepares the last of their rice
before looking up at candlelit urn of parents
and golden statue of Buddha
part of her wants to scream over the cruelty of survival
the other find an answer to why
both parents died in one year from pneumonia.

The morning's chilled air won't be stopped by the fire,
but she tries to ignore the ache in her bones
by pulling her paper thin blanket around her frail form,
letting out one last sniffle, then gazing out again
at her husband fleeting image.

In his boat with paddle stroking so methodically slow
his mind holds onto the image of his wife,
hoping love will help guide him to the place
where his nets will bring one more day of life to his family.

Lifting up his eyes at the panorama of saffron and cinnamon sky
then back at wooden village where he always lived,
it once inspired a Haiku he gave to his wife
remembering how as a child it was a sanctuary
that his parents created with affection and no hate.
Dropping his nets in the place he prayers will have fortune,
not for glory or riches,
just to try and preserve the same magic in the eyes of his kids
through the silent steadfast labors,
which is gold for empty stomachs
if he comes home bearing
another day's catch.