She slowly swings her woven circular net
into the Gulf that sloshes against rock slabs
of the elongated jetty on Bolivar Peninsula.
 
We stood, attentive to this tiny Asian crone,
while she knotted, as her ancestors taught,
a chunk of raw chicken into the mesh.
 
Further along the jetty, her two greying sons
cast lines into the bay, fiberglass surf rods,
afternoon sun flashing on expensive reels.
 
Now, crab trap at rest in the watery murk,
she sits back, content, on her rock to wait,
to sense movement below the rising tide.

We, too, wait and watch, curious, imagine
her great-grandfather whispering in her ear
minute details of foraging food from the sea.
 
The old woman rises, grasps the rope, draws
her net to the surface. Aii-eee! A good one!
She flips a large blue crab into the bucket.

This poem first appeared in The Dime Show Review in California.
Used here with the author's permission.