Fisherwoman Poem by AISWARYA THARA BHAI ANISH

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.