I mourn the tides of the sea, siren’s calls
that once reached my ears fall deaf,
lost in a roaring mob. I reach out
to the ocean, to the blue, to love.
I cry for what I am allowed to, for
no music, for the silence, for my
dry skin, for the fish at the grocery store,
but not for the siren song.
I scream into the night,
wounds opening in my
raw throat and bleeding into my
lungs until I cannot sing. Morning,
I wipe away my tears, sip at
freshwater, kiss the pearly grooved
surface of a clamshell.
I paint the sirens in the sand,
tranquil, smiling, light. I watch
as the sea passes over it and they remain,
untouched. But when the mob
approaches, their visages shatter,
sand washing away amongst the blood.
When I am washed away,
The legend on the sirens passes to another.