If I can't have heaven

“In the end, I wanted to wake up sea foam. I didn’t want these legs anymore that carry me uselessly from house to house, searching for lost love. I wore dresses that covered up the pale lengths, in sea greens and azure blues, wove seashells into hair and sang on a rock. None of it did any good. Once, I would have died for you. I changed, I did, and all just for one kiss, one touch, should it have burned so much? I miss cool scales, the constant wet embrace, the skittering tips of tsunami. While you were out catching fish, with your tangled nets, I was watching you, wishing for a different body, one to entangle you. It never did me any good. So I will wait for the ocean’s promise: that once again I will end up on this beach, disintegrate, spatter away into the essences of salt, sand, earth. A waste of skin and scale, but at least once again I will be part of the dance, the maternal water carrying me home.”

When you left I walked into the ocean. Not to drown but to be held by something reluctant to let go.