The Mermaid Rebellion

I am not like the others
but they don’t know.
I will gaze oceanlike,
but I will not touch.

the cat’s-paw foretells
a wailing flurry of wings and hooves:

they come at me wheeling and crowing
clamouring of the virtues of letting them
make me bleed,
letting them make me
swallow the saltwater pearls.

my gall rises and the typhoon begins in my belly
the screaming sea-fae set free, clinging
to the now-vicious palm fronds made ragged by cyclonic winds
calling out to me in terror and disgust,
coastal vitriol,

“run, run.
there is not enough blood in you
or in anything of you
to stay here.
there is not enough water in the tide
to wash it away.
run.”

and I dived into the ocean,
and ran,
but not away,
to.

I ran
until my legs fused
all sinew and scales,
interlocking, shining
unable to be bled.

then and everafter I swam.

catch me if you can.
(you never can.)

 

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