Mermaid II

I touched my knees for comfort, so deeply did I dread it,
I was not born for that.
To roll in the nets of men, to drown in air
Blister in the sun and rot, to the ditties of flies, flies, flies.
In the grasp of certain satisfactions mechanical
I rejected it with Lenten resolve, stroking my options.
Mine, rather, the arms, sinuous and slender,
Darted with fringes of diaphanous sea-lace-
Mine, the fingers that refused to evolve webs, unbinding the
Fingers to stop frets, to pluck the strings of psalteries
To swim the seas of sounding sea-organs-mine
The shallow lung that tired of its meal of air.

poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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