John Biscello

There is only so long

a mermaid can linger on land

before some collector

with a fetishistic bent,

and sheer volumes of emptiness

matching his compensatory cravings,

renders her a mute and immobile

object of worship,

not only for his ego and eyes,

but also for the curious passersby

who are lacking for true wonder

in their own lives.

This mermaid’s moment of final longing,

before cryogeny set in,

was a gilded cry

and petition

to the blue blue sky,

which she mistook for her mother,

the sea.