The Fisherman

I wake up to the bare silence.
My rough hands quietly pull down the covers,
So as not to wake her.
Beautifully lying on her side
Hair streaking across our bed
Like a fire.

I walk into our old kitchen.
Empty wine glasses,
Full of love.
I look out the window
At the coast of Spain
And our small town
I step through the antique wooden door to our house,
It’s ours.

I jog in my worn jeans,
Fishing coat in arm,
Through the windy twilight,
That whips through the silent streets.

We set off.
The sea foamy and playful.
Celebrate with a beer.
When I push through the ancient door to our house,
She is waiting there,
With two wine glasses,
Full of love.

Holly Tullo, Age 18, Grade 12, Saint Ann’s School, Silver Key

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