"Sea Hag "
the first sin she committed
was being born a bastard
to a servant girl, expelled
into grinding poverty,
then early death.
her second sin,
being born different
toes and fingers webbed
with delicate pink flesh
and lace-like traceries of veins.
a small thin creature
hunched inside a ring
of wondrous shapes,
empty homes,
cast out of the sea.
she studies shells
click, clack echoes back
from cold cave walls.
purrs and murmurs
at each find held to the light
smells the salt tang and fish scent
polishes their insides
on the dirty rags that hang
loosely from her waist.
all her life she has lived
on the edge of light and dark.
water and earth
fire and wind ignore her,
shun her dank place
whisper and rustle,
tell tales about the thing.
women approach the mouth
of her cave to trade bright ribbons,
lengths of cloth for amulets.
charms to save their men
from the storms that pull them down
into the arms of mermaids who
are beautiful and terrible to see
faces luscious, pale,
and frozen in indifference.
the sea perpetually calls,
pulls her but never allows peace.
she wears it on her body
in delicate silver scales
across her lower back,
over hips, on to her belly.
all hidden from prying eyes
by distance and their fear.
© 2005 Anastacia Donovan
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