for my mother,
but not to this boy.
A strand of bright ones from her sisters.
I belong to my sisters,
but not to this boy.
A blue shell that holds the roar of the ocean.
I belong to the sea,
and not this boy.
La Sirenita cuts a lock of her own hair.
I belong to la Bruja del Mar
in ways I will never
belong to that boy.
“If you do this,” I tell her, “you won’t be the innocent sirenita anymore. They’ll look at you like they look at me.”
I give her
the lock of my hair.
I tell her I know.
When she kisses me again, I taste the raw salt and minerals on her tongue. From that taste, I could never mistake her for everyone’s wide-eyed little mermaid.
She’s no one’s sirenita.
She is no one’s but her own.
la Bruja del Mar breathes in,
like she’s inhaling the sea.
I twist the lock of her hair.
her fingers turn my hair into twine.
I crush the pearls between my fingers.
with a pinch as fast
as a lightning strike,
she turns each pearl
into enchanted dust.
like her hands
hold the force
