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Mermaid
She never felt normal,
alone with her intricate obsessions
of arranging shells in orderly ways
and mouthing in tedious repetitions.
Her doll friends were fish.
She felt calm with them as she combed
and wished for something not-alone,
but not enough to craquer her looking-glass home.
The sun redded her Celtic skin,
like a butterfly's wing, iridescent flakes
to lick over a birthday cake,
from a mother absent from her kin.
And the abyss became her companion.
She spine-curled, on her pedestal,
using the golden section to crush
her calcium armour to dust.
Her tail could produce no young
even if her gargles had sung.
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