Rigid yet smooth edges curve so elegantly,
Spiraling like a silk tornado.
Round and round,
Tighter and tighter.
For 3 years’ puberty takes over;
Growing 15 centimeters long
And 5 millimeters thick,
Now a Queen.
Ah, the Tritons idolized your deep angelic roar.
The Buddha’s holy water, stored in your sacred cup.
Hung as a pendant on old African women.
Shaped into tools for domestic work.
Carried and pulled under for endless years,
Growing thicker as the storms slammed on your growing bones.
A cycle of give and take,
Crash and roll.
Like a slow tan, your pale surface turns brown and dark,
Your inner core fades into a faint blushed cheek.
Your horn grows long and wide,
And your waist thins out into a rounded tip.
When you are held to an ear,
Only the ear can hear
The waves that crashed down
And formed your horn.