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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,
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Sunday, March 10, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: healing
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