Mermaid Fillet

       He saw her in the waves, when he was young; He threw his net—and it brought back a treasure: half-fish, half-maiden made of flesh. They shared a glance, one fleeting glance— a beast of froth, a man of earth— and then a flash, a gasp, a splash as jealous waves parted their ways. Through the night and through the day he thought of her again: her crystal eyes, her pearly curls, her silver scaly tail. So when it dawned once more, he went offshore, never to come back home. His boat and his gaze would roam across the briny plane. And even as the waves would rise high as the mountains of land, but wild and roaring, he’d never let his hand to turn the helm in-shore, for more than storms and sharks and ice he feared to miss his darling’s eyes amidst the wuthering waves. The sea, it does not keep traces, and men are poor trackers, but his yearning larger than oceans, stronger than trade-winds, and steadier, too. He’d throw his nets or stand watch under the mizzen, waiting for a flicker of crystal, of pearl, of silver in the depths of aquamarine. He didn’t count days or months or years until he glimpsed a silver streak below, but it was just a mirror of the water. It showed his own hair turned ash (or silver, depending on how much you value grays), and his hope grew all bitter and salty. It flowed down his cheeks into the sea, from which it had been born. But still he didn’t turn his boat in-shore until his hand slipped off the helm, until the sea and sky got fused and faded. The boat, unmanned, was washed at last ashore. In a lonely cove it rustled over gravel, through the kelp, sodden planks and dead fish, floats and seashells and rusty tins— all the treasury of the ocean. And beyond that display there lay the sea’s biggest treasure. Though the time and the air dimmed the silver of her scales, the pearl of her curls, the crystal of her eyes. Far too long had she waited by the shore, roamed along the tidal waves, looking for the one who ensnared her heart with the hook of his glance, the one who sent bubbles through her veins, the one so strange. Any time tide could throw her ashore, ebb could leave her agape, for more than nets and gulls and tides she feared to miss her darling’s eyes amidst the slippery rocks. Now they meet at the interface of their lives, of their elements. In the froth of the tide they embrace sharing their breathless eternities.