It’s not very pretty, this old fishing boat.
Paint is peeled and the brass is pitted.
There is rust on the anchor
and the porthole glass is glazed with salt.
But each day it leaves the harbor
and finds its way to deep waters.
Nets are dropped and fish are caught.
And each night it returns.
About this poem
Those of us who battle depression and anxiety get up each day and live our lives and do our work despite it all. At least most of us do. We’re the lucky ones.
Oh yeah, and it can be about fishing boats too. This picture was taken in Provincetown, MA, at the tip of Cape Cod.