each morn she steps out on the rickety dock
her servants, the few unlucky,
might have replaced the splintered chair waiting
for something more befitting her station
but she would not accept that small kindness
from those who rejoiced in her exile

once she had believed love
would overcome any obstacle
she had given up everything--
her place, her people, her true form,
even her beloved, ever-changing ocean
just to join him

foolish, naive--she had not counted the cost,
had not counted on the insults and coldness of his court
nor on the excruciating pain of walking on transformed feet
further debilitated by the necessities of being "fashionable"--
ugly heeled slippers, dresses laced suffocatingly tight
worst of all, no voice to defend herself with

but all that--that could have been borne
it was no less than the sea witch had warned of
lack of children was a far more hurtful curse
year after year spent uselessly hoping, praying
only to be faced down by accusing physicians
insisting her own inhuman nature made it impossible

then watching his face change
sly, sidelong glances from his women made all plain
long before he annulled the marriage,
refuting her hard won humanity, banishing her from sight
a scandalous arrangement most agreed
but no more so than the wedding

now left with with too much time and a chair
waves snicker softly as they carry her tale
back to a home long ago forsaken
a bitter price paid for a fool's dream
what irony, returned to the sea
after losing all else she had once held dear

12/09/2002

Author's Note: loosely based on h.c. anderson's version of the little mermaid, a 'what if...' tale. conclusion still needs work, feels too weak for what wants saying.

Posted on 04/30/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rhyana Fisher