If there are mermaids
Waves turn
crystalline, smash back to opal collecting strength
to shoot once more
for the shore. They barrel and turn in messy right angles.
On the horizon, a
broken bank of clouds holding rain.
The baby sleeps in
his pram, tucked into his blanket the dreams roll
across his lids.
Along the path we crunch over sand. Seaweed’s
migrated to
shore, ripped from roots to tumble onto the beach.
There’s steep bank
of it towards the pool, mostly brown kelp and curled amongst it,
small chains of
Neptune’s Necklace. My daughter has asked after mermaids,
I equivocate, say
something lame about the weather, not my thought—if there are
mermaids
then this is their hair.
and there are
ReplyDeletethere are!
ReplyDeleteyay the mermaids
who cry out
believe
Yes!
ReplyDelete