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​Fisherman


There’s a foot high ceramic fisherman
     at my window sill, hand on a ship’s wheel.
No sea to see, but he looks out to the rising sun.
                   I like to think, quite the catch.

Collected him some years back almost trash
             in a white elephant gift exchange.
Collected him because he had broken in half
just as he became mine with other fractures.  

I glued him back, no longer broken,
           and now barely notice the cracks.
And, everyday, we look out at day’s start.
                   Sky breaks. 

And at the glass, he’s quick to remind me 
        in his own patient way,
keep my eyes open 
                         and see what I already have.