Stumbling around my life
like the mer girl I wanted to be
when she thought
she wanted to be me.
Knives under every step, every clasp
of hands meant to fold through sea,
every swallow singing not wet words
but thirsty air in my throat.
I will never enchant my voice back from her lips
I can only hope.
To hear the call of a siren sister
limp craving limbs home to
the warm salt tumbled waves
and wait
~February 20, 2008
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