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tuesday morning laundry
.
he had waded out into the waters
del mar in the morning was quiet
and he certainly was not on the sea of galilee
.
he had a pole in his hand
and stood quietly still before the lapping sea
ankle deep, 
just enough that i could see he wasn’t standing on top
of the waves
.
the rising morning sun cast a nice reflection
on the water-beaten sand and there he stood
perpendicular to himself
.
and that’s where i saw him
ridiculed
in the midst of defiant waves
.
it had to happen soon
as the rising sun folded into a colorful collage 
the sky told him that he had never met Jesus
.
then colors dipped into a flowing sky
soft seafoam poured onto the sand
as the fisherman stood empty handed
.
his untested pole pointed to heaven
while perpendicular to himself
he stood quietly still on the smooth sand
.
as the morning unfolded
like laundry on a tuesday morning  
until, repentant, he wept
.
at last the golden sunset
wept into the sea until darkness prevailed
and the sound of breaking waves
.
was only silence
.
.
© tolbert

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