Sirens

Waves bear down on the sand:

pull back, crash in, pull back

and forth, back, forth,

a million hearts roaring,

beating, beating, beating

on metal and bone.

And through it all:

silvery voices.

a choir, a theater,

a stadium.

Heads turn, to and fro,

looking, searching,

pink fingers pointing

at the woman in the sea.

Music spools from her

unmoving lips,

a thousand melodies,

a thousand strings,

a thousand looms

catching flies in

spider webs,

spindly fiber dancing

around limbs:

pretty butterflies sticky

with blood.

They attach to my ankles,

my wrists, my waist,

tiny hands clapping around

my mouth, my neck,

tugging, tearing me

left, right, forward—

backward.

Darkness.

Suffocation.

Compression

that spreads over limbs—

over mind, over sight.

Silvery laughter.

What do you want to be?

A field flashes before my eyes.

A library.

A gym.

What do you want to be?

Cameras.

Ice cream.

Binders.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE?

I—

I don’t—

My feet slide out from

underneath me.

A cry of terror disappears

into bubbles: a cloud of them, 

a star shower shrouding

struggling legs,

threads trailing,

skin water-wrinkled.

I am a puppet

on a stage too big.

My lungs constrict,

watching the bubbles float,

watching the sun shrink—

shrink and then die.

Silvery voices.

Oh. This one could’ve been good.

Too bad.