I’m swimming in the pool at La Siesta in Seymour.
I’m seven. I’m eight. I’m scrawny.
My teeth are crooked. I’m a mermaid.
My tail is turquoise. My hair is lavender.
No one can catch me.
The Texas sun beats me up.
I’m forty-three, suddenly.
I still have my scales.
Somehow I still shine.
Once there was a sailor.
He did not detect my power.
I forgave him.
I didn’t let him drown.
It’s a cold and deep magical realm. I’m still swimming in circles but my circles have purpose. I could not tell you even upon threat of a net
what that purpose is.