I wish I
could make myself into a mermaid.
Elusive, fictitious,
long flowing hair- the works.
I would swim
and watch the ships in battle,
watch to see
which men are still alive when they
hit the
surface of the water.
And then I
would swoop in and scoop them up,
wounded and
unconscious,
sailors or
soldiers or slaves, I wouldn’t care.
I would take
them away under the water
and tend to their
wounds.
And I would
sing to them too.
Mermaids and
men don’t speak the same tongue,
but music
travels easily through water.
I would tell
them without words that it was all a dream
and that
everything is going to be okay
(whether or
not it was true).
The ones that
wouldn’t make it, I’d take down into the blue.
The rest I
left beside the sea, and hoped to leave a song inside their heads
so they would
know that it was me.
Because, we
mermaids are the stuff of dreams
and in their
dreams I return to them.
And in our
dreams we can be anything
where a pair
of legs, like wings, could sprout
have our
father part the sea, just so we can walk out!
(It’s funny
to dream of being a thing that dreams of being me)
But a mermaid’s
heart is a ship inside a bottle.
The want to
get out is somewhat inevitable. And the men,
they wake up
and they tell themselves that it was just a dream
and rarely go
down to the sea to walk along the shore to remember.
The mermaids
are out there.
But they don’t
seem to see.
And the
sunset sends them in again.
And our song
is swallowed up by the vastness
of the ocean and
its long din.
So we go back
in to play with dolphins and wait