The Stage*

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*The ‘stage’ is an out building where fishermen clean their catch. When I was a boy, my dad would salt fish (which we would later ship to a fish plant) away in the stage in wooden pounds. I took this today while visiting an aging Aunt and Uncle. The temperature this evening is -15C, perfect for a sweater 🙂

here
it stands

built by those who
carved lives
along the shores
of a desolate island

where ‘gold’
fished from
turbulent, unforgiving seas
made merchants, kings
and fishers, paupers –
their families raised
to withstand
the turn of tides
and seasons

‘tis said
“what he builds
with his hands
must come tumbling down”

but

here
it stands
facing another
cold Atlantic winter
after centuries of hardships –
a testament
to human resilience

and

here
it will remain
long after
i am
gone

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2019

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15 thoughts on “The Stage*

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