XOCHITL-JULISA BERMEJO

An Ocean Tale

She is my net
that catches me from the fall.
Her love, scented,
as lovers do, in sun dried seaweed
and salt kissed air,
entangles me
and in being tied to her
sets me free.
If I were off the hook
how would I know I was caught?
I am caught
and I, tied down to her,
am strangled and struggling
to be set free,
like a fish at the end of a hook
flapping at the surface
waves crashing
about glimmering scales.
These are the dark
waters of my freedom.
If my line were cut
I would float
upstream. If my net were tangled
I’d cut myself free
and jump
to the suffocating surface.
The illusive and sleek white-finned
Xochila is a creature
of unruly impracticality.
Hella (her godly name,
namesaked to Hellena) will throw
herself into a splintered boat
and fall through
its rough cracks ripping
sequenced skin along the way.
The ocean sings
her haunting Aeolian song
calling the fish and their fisherman under.
And each man hears
her salt misted words on his lips.
And Hella will float
on the underbelly of the water.
You see,
Triton was a woman
and in a lover’s rage that sat
on the tongue like tin and rusted tears
she dragged down
her kingdom of Atlantis.
Like the viejitas once warned: necesitas
saber como pescar.
A net’s purpose is to catch,
like a fish off the hook is meant
to swim free.