Poem: The Riddle

Winslow Homer, American, 1836-1910, The Herring Net, 1885, Oil on canvas


The Riddle

I am a net
tossed into the sea.
Weights in the corner
drag me down.

One hard jerk
secures the catch.
Winch and pulley
draw me back.

Wet and heavy with
dinner and debris

If I could be used
for something different

A net to hold fruit,
a wall hanging,
broken apart, unraveled,
re-knitted into a sweater

But I am a fish net
thrown out to the storm
my value—
is caught between spaces.

-by SPL


Published by

Shannon Laws

Shannon P. Laws, born in Seattle, Washington, lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. Author of three poetry books, "Madrona Grove", "Odd Little Things", and "Fallen" and an audiobook of her select mid-life dating satire poems, "You Love Me, Your Love Me Not". For seven years she produced award-winning community radio programs that promoted the PNW music/art community. Shannon's other interests include operating her voice-over company, Chickadee Productions, and Poetry Club. Since 2015 Poetry Club is dedicated to the neighborhood discussion and sharing of poetry.

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