It is cold, too cold by the sea.
She knows he is watching her, fraught and fearful,
but not following her. He could but he doesn’t.
It has to be her way and soon or not at all.
The incoming tide rises above her hitched skirt,
splashes her chest, face. As webbed toes sink deeper into
grainy sand she drops her head, weary, submissive.
Abandoning the sea and dreams of being forever
mermaid with endless horizons and measureless
depths to explore, she turns back, having made
a decision that cannot be formed into words.
Her lips are numb, brain shrunk in the cold.
Soon she will be in his arms again, cones of wet hair
entangled, black and grey seaweed, sea urchins
opening, soft flesh yielding, retreating waves
sucking out shore-shingle breath and separateness.
Her hair is not mermaid gold but twisted silver.
Her split tail no longer painful but the weak sun
has painted scale-like patterns on her white skin.
He plants kisses, presses, caresses, embraces her,
draws her back to him, holds her safe.
‘Do you know how to speak Sea?’ she asks
but his mouth is full of shrimp butter, wet mussels
and the whip of the wind is too wild to
hear his answer. She lets him carry her home.