the mermaid's voice returns in this one Read online

  “you never needed my help. go on, throw yourself to the comets.”

  - thank you, artemisia. thank you.

  (homage to the novel Blood Water Paint by Joy McCullough)

  “when

  our villains

  win,

  do not fret.

  just

  rewrite

  the story.”

  - mother knows best II.

  III. the song

  “

  &

  so

  she did

  what any

  rational woman

  would do—

  ever so calmly,

  she reached out

  & she tore

  the stars

  apart.

  i watched

  you watching me

  wane. now, you have

  no fucking choice

  other than to

  watch me

  - become full.

  becoming

  your

  own

  savior

  sometimes

  means

  knowing

  when

  you

  need to

  ask for

  help.

  - therapy session no. 1.

  i refuse

  to

  believe

  you took

  something

  irreplaceable

  from me

  in

  that

  moment.

  - i still have every part of myself.

  I. when they say “no.”

  II. when they can’t say “no.”

  - they’re both assault.

  you

  don’t

  get to say

  it’s

  my fault

  for

  staying.

  it’s

  his fault

  for

  making me

  afraid to

  stay

  or go.

  the

  first person

  who touched me

  was not my

  first.

  - i’m deciding my firsts from now on.

  &

  i want to

  take you to the bay

  where i was raised

  &

  watch

  the sky fade from

  blue to orange to pink

  &

  show you

  where i swam

  as a child

  &

  i want to

  rest my head

  on your shoulder

  when

  i ask you if

  we’ll see each other

  in the life after this one

  because

  i know none of this

  would happen in

  this life

  since

  you

  were the lesson

  that made me realize

  redemption

  is not a thing

  that washes up

  on shore.

  no—

  not

  in this life,

  no.

  - not in any life, lovely.

  the

  only way

  i can

  foresee

  surviving

  you

  is by

  finding

  that place

  between

  forgiving

  & forgetting,

  if it even

  exists.

  - this is how i choose to douse my fire.

  this is me

  pressing

  my finger

  to the sand,

  delicately

  drawing

  your name

  there,

  & then

  stepping back

  so i can

  watch

  you

  as you’re

  finally

  carried away.

  - goodbye.

  i don’t write

  what i write

  to hurt you.

  - i write what i write

  to heal me.

  an update for the girl i used to be:

  we live in a tiny apartment near the sea now. it has a desk for us to write on. it has heat to warm us. it has food for us to eat. it has a friendly ghost. it has a caring spouse & a playful kitten who brightens all our days. we have everything we need & everything we never thought we could have. fighting your way here was well worth it. don’t give it all up yet.

  the first night

  in our new place,

  i spilled

  a glass of water

  on the

  kitchen floor.

  the second night

  in our new place,

  i spilled

  a glass of water

  on the

  living room rug.

  jokingly,

  i said to him,

  “i guess

  our home

  is

  blessed

  with

  good luck now.”

  what i meant

  to say is,

  “i’m so sorry

  i can’t touch anything

  without

  immediately

  finding

  a way to

  tarnish

  it

  before it

  tarnishes me.”

  what i should

  have said is,

  “i’m sorry,

  i’m sorry.”

  - “i’m but a work in progress.”

  he

  immediately

  lowers

  his umbrella

  when i say

  i’ve never

  been kissed

  in the rain,

  &

  by

  some

  kind of

  miracle,

  his kiss

  does not

  feel like

  a grenade.

  - the good kind of drowning.

  scene:

  you,

  grabbing

  for my wrist,

  locking eyes

  with me over

  your shoulder

  while we run

  for the last train

  headed home

  with hundreds

  of faceless people

  rushing up

  behind us

  so they won’t

  have to

  stand.

  - i don’t mind standing if i’m standing next to you.

  he exists.

  therefore,

  i know

  for a fact

  that

  humanity

  is not

  dissolving

  before

  my

  eyes.

  when i was too frightened to take the plunge, you were the one who told me it was time to take a chance, that i was spending too many years reading about the grand adventures of fictional people & never trying to live them myself. nowadays, we may be strangers who only nod “hello” to each other across crowded rooms, but i’ll never forget what you did for me in that moment. thank you for seeing the potential in me, beca
use now i finally see all the possibilities that were lying dormant in me, too.

  - for my childhood friend.

  in one world, romeo doesn’t drink the poison. juliet doesn’t pierce herself. instead, they decide to drink wine until they fall asleep messily in each other’s arms. the next morning, they wake up hungover, nursing killer headaches as they take on the world as well as their families. everything turns out just fine.

  - i believe in endless worlds.

  in the next world, romeo & juliet end up together again. they have a grand wedding surrounded by their family & friends, who all have a hand on the hilt of their sword, but everything is okay because at least no one dies. on their wedding night, juliet is terrified to tell romeo that she wants to kiss him but she doesn’t want to sleep next to him. in the same world, romeo doesn’t hesitate a single second before he tells her that it’s okay, he understands. he will stay with her no matter what she wants or doesn’t want.

  - he will stay by her side even if she never wants to sleep next to him.

  in another world, romeo & juliet make it out alive, except they don’t end up together in the end. hold on, though, because it’s not a tragic ending. they eventually part ways, forever remaining the best of friends, travelling through eras we haven’t yet seen until romeo can hold hands with a boy & juliet can hold hands with a girl without fear hanging over their heads.

  - i believe in endless worlds III.

  i am magic

  all the days i am

  a woman

  & i am magic

  all the days i am

  not.

  - demigirl / demigoddess.

  i

  tucked

  my story

  into

  the folds

  of silence

  in

  order

  to put

  other

  people

  at ease.

  - no more.

  i

  painted

  my trauma

  in shades of

  crown gold

  & marigold pink

  to

  make it

  pretty

  enough

  to be enjoyed

  by others.

  - no more II.

  for the first time in months, i wake up feeling okay. i don’t waste my morning setting alarm after alarm & turning back over, blinds & eyelids shut to the promise of the new day, to the quickly approaching afternoon.

  i roll out, stretching my laced fingers toward the ceiling, the smallest of grins beginning to grow on my face.

  maybe i can be happy, i think.

  or maybe i can’t, i think.

  i quickly shake the thought from my head, humming a wordless tune i picked up from an old music box in the attic. sometimes it’s necessary to shut down the little voice that tells me this is but a rare, short-lived moment before i become someone entirely unrecognizable from the person i woke up as.

  in all reality, there’s a very good chance tonight won’t be okay.

  but right now,

  things are good.

  - that’s all i need for now.

  i’ve always fancied myself a mermaid of sorts. i must confess that i haven’t swam since long before i started punishing my body for all the things that were never its fault.

  this whole time, i’ve been covering up these arms that embrace & these legs that carry because i was always petrified of the damage the lightning storm scars would cause. i imagined birds flocking to safety. i imagined deer sprinting back into the shelter of the wood. i imagined children rushing for their parents’ bedrooms.

  yes, it’s true.

  lightning can & does kill.

  once, it crept through the window & took the baby girl i share generations of blood with.

  i’ve also learned that lightning kills the thing that stops trees from bursting through the soil & giving life back to me.

  - every day is an act of survival.

  on one of my palms, my lifeline stops short. on the other palm, my lifeline dips precariously into my marked-up wrist. i’m not sure which one of them is telling the truth, & part of me never wants to know. the only thing i can do is learn to live with the idea that i will never be cured. i will always be in the process of healing.

  - making the most of it.

  i thought my world was coming to a crashing end, & maybe it did, in some manner of speaking. in the process, photographs fell off the wall, & i still find pieces of glass stuck in the sunken wooden stairs. small cracks formed in some parts of my foundation. in every room, if you place a glass marble in the middle of the floor, it will roll along where the floorboards tilt unevenly. some doors stick & some doors open all by themselves when you walk by them.

  the house still stands, though.

  it still stands.

  - a home without character isn’t a home.

  i fill

  my plate

  up

  & then

  i empty it

  again.

  these days,

  it’s all for

  me.

  - i am my reason for recovery.

  today,

  i love the way

  i look in

  my sundress

  & it’s not

  because

  someone else

  convinced

  me to.

  - i am my reason for recovery II.

  breathe.

  charge my crystals.

  collect seashells.

  write a little each day.

  take more bubble baths.

  say “hello” to the fairies.

  drink more spearmint tea.

  re-read my favorite fairy tales.

  let no one invalidate me.

  give myself time.

  - i vow to.

  a victim

  or a survivor?

  a victim

  or a survivor?

  a victim

  or a survivor?

  - i have settled on both.

  the

  further along

  i come,

  the more

  i’m

  beginning

  to

  realize that

  maybe—

  just

  maybe—

  there is

  such

  a thing

  as fate.

  as destiny.

  if

  after

  everything

  i’m

  still

  breathing,

  then

  there must

  be

  a reason

  even

  if

  i

  haven’t

  seen it

  yet.

  most stories

  don’t have

  a clear,

  defined message.

  they aren’t

  supposed to.

  we must

  take

  the good

  with the bad

  with the grey

  &

  decide

  what

  we want

  to do

  with it

  all.

  - i’m still alive & therefore so is hope.

  the night

  may fall,

  but

  i will

  always

  remain.

  - i’m my own sunset.

  the dawn
>
  may break,

  but

  i will

  always

  reign.

  - i’m my own sunrise.

  for

  our

  assignment,

  we had to

  take ourselves

  out on a date.

  i went to

  a flower shop

  named

  in the garden

  & bought

  myself

  a

  bouquet

  of

  wilting daisies

  everyone else

  turned down

  &

  i

  attached

  a love note

  from myself

  to read later.

  i

  went up

  the street to

  water witch coffee

  & picked up

  two danishes

  only

  i would be

  eating,

  &

  before dinner,

  no less.

  i made

  a pot of coffee

  big enough for four

  & i stood outside,

  mug perched

  in hand,

  staring

  into the thin,

  winter-bare

  forest

  in my

  backyard.

  for

  what,

  i must admit

  i’m not

  entirely

  certain.

  i’m

  no longer

  searching

  for reasons

  or explanations

  for the past.

  i’m

  only

  searching

  for breadcrumbs

  leading to

  more breadcrumbs

  that will,

  with any

  luck,

  eventually

  lead me

  down

  the path

  i’ve been looking

  for

  this whole

  time.

  - homeward.

  “be

  stronger

  than the

  villains.

  be every

  storybook

  heroine

  come to life.”

  - mother knows best III.

  IV. the surviving

  “

  a chorus of