The Fulton Fish Market

The Fulton fish market Day breaks early on the misty water front the streets wake outside South Street to sounds of fog horns fading in the distance Morning comes alive to the music of work sounds of carts moving opening of gates screech in the distance cranking wheels box cars lining up to the morning rush men’s voices yelling across the distance as the morning sun circles the horizon a rush of workers and people coming to market near the tidal seas buying selling moving Portrait scenes in watercolor light streams in reflecting off the rows of fish Raku tones of silvery pink and metallic hues of baby blues small fish big fish Herrings silver slick blue fins all lined up in old wooden carts some wrapped in newspaper some in brown paper Cod sardines mackerel trout fish from near and far from open seas to open streets Workers drinking coffee steam rising from cups in chilly morning air a living working breathing market on the ports of NY where voices chant ancient songs of day rumbling feet against the cold blackened streets lifting hands calloused and swollen from long days work The warm glow of reflected light of midday sun against the grey sky high lights bathe the withered faces people stream in to shop and talk women with wicker baskets gently holding small children’s hands pass by the narrow spaces whispers of salty air flow through the gentle breeze