Mermaid by Lynn White

It was the change in her hair she noticed first

growing now like harsh thin weed

but attached

firmly

attached

and inedible.

She tugged at it

but the pain was too great

to separate it from her head.

And then her scales

began to disappear

her beautiful shiny scales

washed away with her gills.

Her brothers and sisters

and the rest of the school

swam around her still

but she couldn’t hear them,

couldn’t understand

what they were saying.

The art of communication

had been lost,

washed away

with her gills.

What was she now?

Neither fish nor fowl.

Fowl,

where did that come from?

She ran her fingers over her skin,

still smooth

unfeathered

up to now.

She waited

waited to see what would emerge.

Then the next wave came

and carried her

to the beach

so she crawled along

the sharp sand

uncomfortably

on her swollen belly

until she found a rock

and clambered up

then slithered down

algaed slime

into a recess

a safe cave

a haven

with a shallow pool

left by the tide,

a birthing pool

she thought

and she knew

that the next tide

would bring her sustenance

while she waited to see

what would emerge.