River Daughters

It has been raining, yesterday and today. Leaving a heaviness in the air, that is lifting, as the sun moves to its final place today. Looking over the river, I notice the tugboats, the muddy, soot colored shores, ancient oaks and white pines heavy with dew already settling and tree frogs starting their chorus. The shrimp-boats are coming in, a few crabbers. I hear the engines, but I hear the laughing of the men on board and I smell the cigarettes that hang loosely on lips and from hands. These same lips and these same hands from which they have hung for lifetimes. Round women with colorful cloths wrapped around their long hair come to the edge of windows and finally to the edge of the dock. They haggle, laughing then scolding the men, who in turn laugh and scold the round women. Tall daughters follow, with tight jeans that do not reach all the way down, showing slender ankles, some with silver chains dangling down by bare soles, some with bright black tattoos ecclesiastically wrapped around their delicate leg. The sun is fading swiftly, I hear the men on the boats telling me so. And they are right. Quickly the boats are unloaded and more quickly the river walk is filling with humming. Steady humming of bottles opening, music wafting from bars, mugs sitting, slamming on wood, pool cues put in motion, shoes on cobblestone, and the easy, easy laughter of tall daughters as they carry shellfish to restaurant kitchens.