Hurt, In the Waves Hans Andersen Turned Aside

[to Hans Christian Andersen for the beautiful story of

"The Little Mermaid"]

weeping shells, the mermaid on dry land

longs for the pearl of her underwater

suns, her baby rainbows

wavering in deep waters.

nothing here is deep

and she sleeps sand.

she sleeps sand and cannot breathe

uncertain of a way to believe

the beating of her coral heart to music.

new steps for the ballet, no longer

gliding on a wave, she has to learn

through dancing on crushed shells.

and in her violet eyes, the far-off look

of skies reflected down and down the miles

of taffeta waters, swells

and clouds the view of nothing

till it feels like dying.

later in the story, could she turn to foam?

heartbroken, on the surface of all surfaces;

her soul, dispersed...

but this was a fine love, cried the author

weeping shells and out of stories in the moment;

his hands shaking on dry paper:

unable to unfold her valor and the sorrow more

and still to bear-

the vanishing point on the horizon.

the invisible Glory where she fled.

the moire closing of the waters

above her sea bright head

too late to record
(so I imagine it)

how the seas turned, then,

the colour of all roses

mary angela douglas 21 april 2014; rev. 8 june 2014