The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: FishWife by Alysse McCanna

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THE MERMAID

She comes to me phantasm, midnight-
              blurry, my wishwife in salmon petticoat,
                            flushed flutter and click of her pink- & grey-

scale. Her upside-down boat, my wet bell:
              seaweed cloud, indigo rust, her pitted coral
                            cheek. I pocket bubbles, knot my fingers

into the anchor’s chain, reach for her slick
              neck and a sip of breath. O widow, hail
                             the siren’s ruin: she promises a shipwreck

soon, drowns his fists & sways the moon,
               tomorrow he’ll be no more. Sand notches
                             my cheek: awake, ashore. I steady

my vision—her fishface echoes—against
               the horizon and begin the day’s search.
                             Fisherman, sailor, husband. Scanning

for the blur of boat that signals his return.
               A friend invites me for sushi, her tongue tempting
                             with superwhite tuna melting like a pat of butter.

She manipulates another fleshy bite
                with her chopsticks. The pink flash
                             of her tongue carries me back into dream

and the world monochromes. Gasping
                in the moon pool, all silver-blue and seasalt-
                             white, her line cast, hook fast in the corner

of my mouth. She sighs a promise of gills
               but still I hear his fist, hard and steady,
                             keeping time. Our diving bell sinks deeper

into the mirrored world, her mouth
                hard against mine in this, our last act,
                             final art. O widow, hail the siren’s ruin:

she promises a shipwreck
                soon, drowns his fists & sways
                              the moon, tomorrow he’ll be no more.

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