Helena Nelson
The Mermaid's View
Landmaids will mythologize:
beauty is overrated. We are not obsessed with size. We are understated. We do not have to wear bras and baldness is rare. Luring sailors onto rocks is, of course, brutal. We do not care, we do it while singing goodbye, goodbye, goodbye because it is in our genes, like bringing certain types of octopi home as pets. We do not have vets. We do not have shops. We have fierce mermen. We try to resist them but it is no use. In the main we choose to lose our maidenhoods. It gets darker, rougher, the wind slaps to and fro and floods our heads with thoughts of getting away but we melt into spray. Sisters
We take each memory out.
We pass them round. We share the fact that such things, such things were, were they not? They were. |
The Shadow Stairs
She steps up true and steadily.
Forgotten, all the steps behind. She has no sense of stairs or flight. Each step is in itself enough. One foot will go before the next. All inclination moves in time. Time has no time to fail or stop. Each step is in itself enough. She will not slip or deviate. No plea impedes her steady climb. She carries more than mortal mind. Each step is in itself enough. Each step is perfect and precise. She has no fear. She shall not fail. Each step leads steadfast to the next. This thought is glory, and enough.
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