Why Mermaids Cry
I like to comb beaches -
it tickles my mind,
the anticipation
of what one may find:
rocks, shells, and marine life,
the tooth of a whale,
some baubles of sea glass
and maybe a tale.
I picked up a secret
about mermaids' tears:
There are misconceptions -
the truth, though, endears
those clear, shiny treasures
still closer to me,
as well as the creatures
who cry in the sea.
So, here is the story
of how I found out -
please note that my source was
a credible trout.
A steelhead, precisely,
quite large and mature
who just recently had
been fooled by a lure.
It was in the morning,
not past six o'clock,
I walked by a bucket
that stood on a rock.
Its owner was fishing
some ten yards away,
back turned towards me, then
I heard a voice say:
"Please stay for a moment
if you have a heart."
Addressed in such manner,
I couldn't depart.
In silence, I waited
for things to unfold
and wondered just what
the bucket did hold.
A few steps towards it
revealed a big fish.
The light of the sunrise
served to embellish
his silvery tail fins,
which did slightly sway,
reflecting the rainbow
that spanned the small bay.
"I beg you," he whispered
"to grant me my life.
In exchange I will do
my best to contrive
to take you with me on
a visit below
to the places where kelp
and red algae grow."
An offer like this one,
you will understand,
could not be refused, so
I stretched out my hand.
The trout in my tote bag,
I ran off around
the protruding cliff face
and kneeled on the ground
to set my new friend free.
Once in the ocean,
he jumped through the waves in
overjoyed motion.
I watched him with gladness
not feeling the need
for further rewards when
he spoke again: "Meet
me here when the day dawns
tomorrow. Will you?"
I nodded, astonished.
"Believe me, I'm true
to what I have promised."
He dived out of sight.
I slowly walked homewards,
and after a night
of little repose, I
returned to the spot -
the fog was just lifting -
unsure about what
would happen to me if
the fish kept his word.
The surf whirled and billowed.
Somewhere screamed a bird.
I stared at the water;
three heads did appear:
a man and two women.
They beckoned. "Come here."
Of course, you will ask now
just where I have been,
but I cannot tell you
the wonders I've seen.
I solemnly vowed that
I'll never reveal
if I swam with orcas
or petted a seal,
rode on a swift porpoise
through forests of tall
and swaying seaweed, which
cannot but enthrall.
Or if I met people
whose shimmering tails
had elegant flukes and
small sequin-like scales,
whose laughter could equal
the humpbacks' sweet song
and if those companions
did take me along
to magical places
I cannot describe,
lit up by fluorescence
and having the vibe
of summer night parties
below velvet skies
that host glowing stars and
flitting fireflies.
"And what," you will query,
"became of the trout?"
I'm sorry to say that
you'll never find out
if he was the sea queen's
third cousin in-law,
the handsomest fellow
that ever I saw,
who took me back after
three full days of bliss
(it's none of your business
if we had a kiss).
There was one more thing, though;
I just had to try
and ask him: "Your women,
do they ever cry?"
He whispered the answer,
his smile broad but coy:
"When mermaids shed tears, it's
always for pure joy."
Copyright: Silke Stein, September 2021
Frozen Charlotte of the Shore
I found her on a winter's day -
she was stuck in the sand,
her tiny face imploring me,
"Oh, please, lend me a hand.
Come, pick me up and rescue me -
the wind is freezing cold.
I may look like a little girl,
yet I am really old.
This place is beautiful but harsh.
I dread the frothing sea.
I fear the rocks and those white birds
who always pick at me.
I am afraid I might get shipped,
or worse, could even break.
The silt does chafe my China skin.
Help me, for Heaven's sake."
I wrapped her in a handkerchief,
and carried her away,
and put her on the windowsill
where all my sea glass lay.
She seemed to like her newfound home,
and I made her a dress
of pretty printed cotton to
cover her nakedness.
Then, I looked up her origin,
for I was not aware
that figurines like her get found
on beaches everywhere.
These dolls were (made in Germany
from porcelain or bisque)
imported in large quantities -
the toy business was brisk.
Over one hundred years ago,
they sold for a mere cent.
Then, people called them penny doll -
by popular consent,
they later became known and loved
as 'Frozen Charlotte', though,
after a famous old ballad
that recounted the woe
befalling a fair, foolish girl
who set out with her beau
in a sleigh to a New Year's ball,
driving through frost and snow.
She was not adequately clothed -
yes, vanity and pride -
and overcome by the great cold,
she consequently died.
Yet, this sad, cautionary tale
did not impact the joy
the Charlottes gave to children: They
were wild about the toy.
Mine does preside over the gifts
the ocean gave to me,
beautiful shells and tumbled shards
of glass and pottery
I did collect on the same beach
where our paths did meet
when she had been in such distress -
now, she is safe and neat,
and leans against a jar that holds
marbles and stopper stems,
some corals and a wishing stone,
and other coastal gems.
She gazes through the windowpane
right into my backyard
where robins play, and squirrels sing -
I know within my heart
that sometimes on a summer night,
fragrant, cloudless, and still,
when nobody does look at her,
my little Lottie will
mysteriously come to life,
tickled by a moonbeam,
stretch out her limbs and start to dance,
and her wee cheeks will gleam.
There'll be a smile upon her lips,
a sparkle in her eye -
she cannot hide her pleasure, though,
she might not even try.
In my imagination, I
can see her skip and twirl,
not frozen any longer, but
a lovely, lively girl.
Copyright: Silke Stein, March 2023