Barbara Daniels
THE SEA MAIDENS
A man wakes, one side all bruises,
blood on a dirty carpet. Where is his car?
Fears should be nothing, movement
of air at the door to the underworld.
He decides to drink only six drinks today,
but for now he gulps from a bottle.
Mermaids call through wind and wild water
from Winter Harbor, Heron Island,
Frazer Point. What will they chant
as the world ends, grief-stricken,
inconsolable? The man hears voices
through walls. He thinks he’s burning.
Should he pray to the tiger, the leopard,
the dog? Hell is morning, sun through blinds.
He begins his compulsory journey,
touches the bleeding rim of skin on his ear.
People have died here. The footing
is dangerous. Sea maidens sing.
A man wakes, one side all bruises,
blood on a dirty carpet. Where is his car?
Fears should be nothing, movement
of air at the door to the underworld.
He decides to drink only six drinks today,
but for now he gulps from a bottle.
Mermaids call through wind and wild water
from Winter Harbor, Heron Island,
Frazer Point. What will they chant
as the world ends, grief-stricken,
inconsolable? The man hears voices
through walls. He thinks he’s burning.
Should he pray to the tiger, the leopard,
the dog? Hell is morning, sun through blinds.
He begins his compulsory journey,
touches the bleeding rim of skin on his ear.
People have died here. The footing
is dangerous. Sea maidens sing.
Barbara Daniels’ book Rose Fever was published by WordTech Press and her chapbooks Black Sails, Quinn & Marie, and Moon Kitchen by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press. Her poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, WomenArts, Mid-American Review, The Literary Review, and many other journals. She received three Individual Artist Fellowships from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.
