No One Plants Fish in the Sea - Flávio de Araújo

Cast your net, fisherman.
To wrap blue silk around the woman
praying on the wharf.
To pay for the children's notebooks.
To keep the storeowner
from turning away.

Sort the fish, fisherman.
The smallest one, that will come back big,
from the largest that will blacken
your wife's new frying pan.
The mesh-chewing crab
from the razor-toothed eel.

Freeze in the hold, fisherman,
where cold air stiffens
your busy hands
and the fish with gleaming,
lidless eyes.
Don't fear the seafloor below your feet—
from it sprouts seeds
you did not plant.

Skill will bring your vengeance,
justice will come from faith.

Watch the clouds propelled
by the breath of God.
The beaches overrun
by no entry signs.
The real estate speculator
with his lizard grin.
The dump scavengers hunting
aluminum and plastic.
The cigarette butts that don't kill
turtles from edema.
All the vanished species
expensive oil
and easily melting ice.

As if taming a horse
by the mane—
cast your net, fisherman,
it is your fate.

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Flávio de Araújo (20th century) Brazil
Translated by Rachel Morgenstern-Clarren