MICHAEL MINASSIAN
The Mermaid Taking a bus from Miami to Orlando, Ophelia decides she will never fall in love again, or write postcards she never mails.
Tired of princes and queens, taxi drivers and acrobatic sex, she takes swimming lessons, the only adult in the class. At Weeki-Wachee, she gets a job wearing a bikini top and fish tails, green and blue scales—
Surrounded by undulating plants, Ophelia’s thick golden hair, drifts above her like the long drowned.
Day dreaming while she swims, her tears salt the aquarium. She learns to hold her breath for minutes, then hours, preferring the underwater world to life on the surface. Having no need for gravity, she floats among the fish learns their language: the flip of a fin or tail the shape of the mouth the vibration of a gill— eyes wide open in sleep or dreams.
Tourists ooh and aah from behind the glass.
© Michael Minassian 2023 November - December POETRY & WRITING © liveencounters.net
