Fishermen place their lives
        in luck’s hands: luck being


        slippery as fish, and handless.
        It swims haplessly.


        Some days, you fill baskets
        with it, as though you have caught


        the sun itself: flipping and glittering,
         tokens of unknown worlds.


        Some evenings, the oars are so heavy
        and baskets are light as empty bellies.


        You curse the sea and your hands and
        your luck. Our memories are insatiable.


        We must forget our misfortunes
         and cast out our lines again.


        We are all fishermen.


                                                                                                        ~Lindsey Bellosa