Strange Fish

At the beach
she would not splash
in the shallows
or leap
the rippling waves,
instead she sat
sour-faced
on the sand
and moaned
the water was too cold.

Strange fish
she preferred to flounder
on dry land
fretting that the sun
might scorch her scaly skin.

Did she never feel her fish-tail
twitch, or itch
to dive in deep
slip her fingers
into emerald crevices
lick the salt taste
from her glistening skin?

Did she never long
for the soft caress of water
like a lover’s touch?
Or dream of drifting off
freed from the dead weight
of being human for a while?

Despite lessons at the pool
she never learned to swim.

Strange fish.
Drowning in self-denial
was more her style.