A Poem by Theresa A. Cancro

The Mermaids Won't Tell

The mermaids won't tell
of the myriad dreams drifting out to sea
that you burnished with soft youth,
then abandoned once caustic questions posed
by grey-haired mere-men of dry bones, petrified ears
and glass houses filled your head.

Nightingales in oak trees won't retrieve
the secrets stuffed in knots on hot
summer nights, chock full of adventure,
blisters and sweet laughter, open to the constellations
granting all creatures the right of passage
when they listen, heed full passion.

Gnashing bears won't stop, stalk past you today,
'though in old guise they sniffed, relished
your air, stroked hard-packed earth where
bare feet hammered before diving
among ghee pools, faces slathered in voracious skies
marling innocence and carnal desire.

I would give you my broken basket filled with icons,
a reliquary of love pilgrims who never lost their aim,
but the maze you desire hobbles, blinds you --
you'll never reach the center
to find your way
out.

Theresa A. Cancro (Wilmington, Delaware, USA) writes poetry and fiction.  Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming on several online sites and in print, including Three Line Poetry, Dead Snakes, Napalm and Novocain, Jellyfish Whispers,  Stormcloud Poets Anthology, A Handful of Stones, and A Hundred Gourds.