The Last Mermaid
the end of the day brings the chaos
of dream
the sea turtles meandering around
flippantly
the corals sporting hues no creature
will ever see
for the dark
of the deepness
the water is my air
and the air is my water
I can’t stay out too long
past my breathing time
my gills full of ticking clocks
and my hair full of shells I’ve picked
from the shallow end of my world
I am the last mermaid
the last half-human swimmer in this sea
the last space filling apostrophes
the speckled goose
among the colorblind bill ducks and albatross
we are swimming
in schools of lonely serpents
down there in the beneath
octopi spurting ink too dark to see
upon startle
they startle me
from my slumber
in the flowerbeds of seaweed
I will now make a harp from my hair
and I will talk
to the Sirens who reign the rocky rough
their thick braids
dipping into my air
their songs calling some man
but lovely nonetheless somewhere
rich harmonies permeate my water and me
the last half-human swimmer in this sea
of storms and swirling tide pools
the darkness whose slick depth comforts me
© 2021 Heidi Blakeslee
Heidi Blakeslee is the author of a memoir, The White Cat, two novels, Strange Man, and The House, and three poetry books, the latest being Neurotica which came out in 2019 through Alien Buddha Press. She is currently the poetry book reviewer for GAS: Poetry, Art, and Music blog. She lives near Pittsburgh with her six cats and her partner James.
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