Fishtail

The first time I saw my true self,
I was sitting on the edge of a wooden boardwalk
letting the water sparkle
and overheard explosions
of salt sprays enact sprightly sea wars.
It was the summer I realized I couldn’t swim ordinary anymore.
It was the July I discovered I was partially fish,
and had a sheer, luminescent tail
the moment I crashed into the
savage blue.

New feelings engaged within me.
Wonder-filled bursts of energy developed.
And for once in my life, I felt invincible.

Splash!
The water swallowed me whole,
leaving no trace of a beach teen
behind.

My back fin plunged deeper
toward the rocky barriers
untouched by humans.

Anemones—the ocean’s fireworks
flared up in a bubbly blaze.

I could joke around with clown fish.

Far down below, my fish figure passed
granular sands and schools of manta rays.

I leaped high next to bottlenose dolphins.

My fins passed by an sub-aqueous museum
where statues and dented ships rust
near granite pillars
mermaids call home.

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