Sometimes we need not even move.

They come willingly to their ruin-

Sailors hot and salty. To those who volunteer, we show our best.

Others cling to their doomed ship, weeping, despite our tender

caresses. Alas.

Those we drag to the depths, with a fierce kiss to

Prolong their agonies.

All surrender eventually.

Thence to our haven cave. One sister to play upon her plaintive lyre

strung with ship’s cat guts.

The other to strum with her fingers

the never delivered golden gifts of

Newly-widowed wives.

I? To scatter coins and garnets like I do  men’s souls,

To distract myself from the one, the only one,

Who even at his demise stiffened-

Told me with his dying eyes

He would not change a thing for all the world.

He is gone, but that look remains.

Still it comes, as I come. As I remember.


Copyright Tom Tide 2016




One Comment Add yours

  1. Tom Tide says:

    Reblogged this on Tom Tide thinking and commented:

    Perhaps not these mermaids, though.


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