Tidal Tanka

Sirens copped the blame

but the tales got it all wrong—

it was the ocean

herself, with her treacherous

beauty posing the danger.

.

Cut like Murano

glass glinting aquamarine

mothersong cooing

from cupped mouths of shells: return

to me, she beckons. I’ll wash

.

away your woes till

your edges soften, smooth as

pebbles lining my

salt-laced shores. Your feet need not

feel the grit again. Here, slip

.

on these cockles—they’ll

cradle you safe as armour.

Wentletraps coil like

hungry constrictors around

your hips, resistance flailing.

.

Seashells sprout like scales

from belly to toes, shimm’ring

iridescent. There’s

no going back. You belong

to the sea now, young siren.