the net

I was thinking about a poem I wrote quite a few years ago. It’s simple but I’m proud of it. Sometimes it’s the simple things that I enjoy the most. I’ve done a few revisions and re-titled it.

the net

wrestling with his battered net
the boy’s small boat rocks in the wake
hair knotted from the salty wind
hands too young to have such scars

he hasn’t yet forgotten the grace of his mother
the way she would brush back the hair from his forehead
her warmth would seep into his soul and whisper not to worry
you never have to worry
      you will always be by my side
her eyes spoke a million words
every one was heard
everyone one was recorded in his heart
played again

the net slips from his hand and into the sea

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