The Troll Queen's Bride
Osprey roost on their chests, furrowed brow
contorted with whirlpools, seaweed bangs
and shipwreck eyes, oh Atlanta Naiads,
oh sweet banks of ruin, my end comes
swiftly as the gale endures, envelops, and
in the grips of the sirens, I hear a melody
like melancholy, like honey crisps, so I
let go, dive down, build sand castles to
be lovingly eaten away at by foam.
The mermaid gives up the ghost and becomes
a creature of air, and under her sister’s
gaze, I let go of all water weighing me
down, become but bubbles, and swim.
Tithe
Tell me, oh fairy queen, do I fit the narrative?
Am I pretty enough? Am I witty enough? Is my skin
the dun of a cow?
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