New Poem

The Little Mermaid Walks Away

There’s too much water in the ocean.
Each wave an echo, an unanswered wish
calling her to the surface. The pulsing current
through coral reefs means nothing to her
when the ocean’s craggy floor
is pocked with the things
others throw away. She brushes her
cyclone of tangled hair with a fork.

How perfect does an apple taste?
A steak? A kiss? At night, she writes
her girlish notions against shafts of moonlight.
The morning hands them back.
There are no flaws in nature, so to walk
on pronged feet, to leave a footprint,
means walking out of a dream.
It means destroying a kingdom
only to build it again.