Mom tells the story
That's part family legend
Part running joke:
Her side of the family
Is part Huguenot French,
And there's this story
Of a French noblewoman
That was secretly a river spirit.
I do laps in the pool,
Feet and legs together,
Daydreaming how
A mermaid
Could be a distant relative.
I curl up against
The edge of the bathtub,
No longer caring
If my notebook gets wet.
The cradle of the water
Lets the words come easier,
The muse whispering
Between the faucet and the drain.
I think of the noblewoman,
Trapped on land;
Did she feel this restless
Away from the water,
Her lifeline?
I press my ear against the glass,
Spellbound in awe
With the chirps and chatters
Of the dolphins on the other side.
In their eyes
I perceive their empathy
Of isolation from the ocean—
Just as homesick as they are.
I pull away
More reluctantly than I should.
The ocean's heartbeat
Roars in my ears
As the sand
Embraces my feet,
Entreats me not to leave.
I pace along the shoreline,
Not unlike a circus lion.
Each glimmer of the sun
On each cresting wave
Is a possible sparkle of home.
If she were here,
Would she welcome me back?
I can reach out
Only so far,
My eyes can make out
Only so much
Mom tells the story again.
One would think
I would nod and smile by now,
The magic having faded with time.
But the dream is still there.
I do laps in the pool,
Feet and legs together,
Thinking of the river spirit,
And whether she'd be
Proud of me
For carrying on
What may be a family tradition.
