Oruwa = Traditional Sri Lankan fishing boat. They are extremely narrow, beautiful things; fishermen perch on the side of them, relying on a long bamboo outrigger attached to the side to stay balanced at sea. On one of our last days in Sri Lanka, in Trincomalee on the northeastern coast, we walked along the entire beach towards Fort Frederick. Suddenly, the skies opened, and we started running for cover. As we did so, we stumbled across an elderly fisherman, joined by (presumably) his son, preparing their oruwa. They invited us to go fishing with them. With non-waterproof valuables in our pockets, already getting pounded by the rain, we instinctively said ‘no’. But what if we had said yes?

Would we have curtsied
to the galloping waves
Four damp bodies
In creaking panes of breadfruit wood?

Would tide-tired crabs have clipped
their claws to our hull
To wash sand from their frames
And joyride homeward to their crabwives?

Would we have crashed
through the salt-sweet spray,
To emerge on swirling waters
Whipped oily flat by the rain?

Would we have cast a hand-woven net
Swiftly thrashing with storm-worn silver,
With little left to give
But to be taken?

Would we lift our oars
and drift beachward
To greet hungry grandchildren
Cheering in the shallows?

Would we have torn, together,
our humble catch
Served spiced, charcoaled
on a sprawling banana leaf?

The what-would-have-been
Overwhelmed us
As you paddled into the fray.
We rued the phones in our pockets
And found other memories to be made.