Tidal Tanka
~ a 5/7/5/7/7 series~
Sirens copped the blame
but the tales got it all wrong—
it was the ocean
herself, with her treacherous
beauty posing the danger.
.
Cut like Murano
glass glinting aquamarine
mothersong cooing
from cupped mouths of shells: return
to me, she beckons. I’ll wash
.
away your woes till
your edges soften, smooth as
pebbles lining my
salt-laced shores. Your feet need not
feel the grit again. Here, slip
.
on these cockles—they’ll
cradle you safe as armour.
Wentletraps coil like
hungry constrictors around
your hips, resistance flailing.
.
Seashells sprout like scales
from belly to toes, shimm’ring
iridescent. There’s
no going back. You belong
to the sea now, young siren.
About the Creator
Paris Rosemont
Thai Australian poet. Author of poetry collections 'Banana Girl', 'Barefoot Poetess', and chapbook >>glitch<<
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