* * *
Once and Always: there’s a cave where Sleep lives. Poppies on the way in. No entry for the sun. A dim place thick with silence. Sleep sleeps limbs strewn on a feather bed weighted under blankets, clouds of down. In his chamber, un-alone. Surrounded by shape-shifters, more than anyone can count, all the different forms a dream can take. They wait in silence for direction. You to this dream—be his grandmother spreading egg yolk on her elbows. You to that dream—be a house on fire that feels familiar the dreamer has never seen. You—a falling tower. You—a figure in the shadows. You—a sexual river. You—a throbbing pulse of light. You—an alligator in a muddy stream with baby chickens on its back. You—an antlered child. You—a tidal wave. You—a laughing mother in a lawn chair throwing dirt clods at her daughter crawling toward her on the grass. They’d shimmer, slip out the cave, and travel through the night to drift in the window of that night’s dreamer. “Be her husband,” Morpheus was told, he most skilled of all the shifters, highest hero of this world. “Make her know about the storm.” So this mottled and beautiful transparency, this fiction form, came to me in sleep, my love, naked, kneeling at my bedside, ocean dripping from his beard, seaweed clinging to his shoulder. He made me know the ship was smashed to splinters, that he’d been swallowed by the sea. He made me know it all in two words, such is the language of dreams, and the shared language of our love. I won’t tell you what they were. That’s private.
* * *
Then: there’s a harbor from which they all sail away. Fishing boats. Lobster traps. Striped buoys by the jetties. Seals slip. Fog on the docks. Blang of rope on poles. In mourning the morning after he told me in the dream what was true, I went down to the shore, near where I watched my husband’s boat disappear on the horizon. At sea, a little ways off shore, a floating thing, a body. His, I knew. The waves carried him to me. He was blued and grayed. His lips pulled the way they did when he was angry. Fights swept through our home like storms, battered every wall. I waited for the calm. Oh the calm. Stormless peace. But like the dark rocks hidden at high tide, danger lived below the surface. There’s a state of too-close, of getting bashed against the rocks. There’s such a thing as too much love. It’s possible to lose yourself. I saw my husband’s body limp and swollen in the sea and I ran to throw myself off the high storm wall onto the rocks, into the waves that blasted over them, spraying up the cliff. I leaped, so we’d be together still because I could not be alive without him. I believed this lifelike fiction. I believed in the illusion of two-as-one. There would be no me without him. I jumped. The damp cold sea air. Locked neck. White foam. Black rocks. Roar of fall. But I did not land. I was turned into a bird, and he was, kingfishers, both, a pair all but identical. We weather storms, we weather storms yearlong and wait for calm. Oh the deep dark fleeting calm.
THETIS
I can tell you what I am. I’m a goddess of the waves. I can tell you what I do. I wink and change my shape. I ride naked on a dolphin. My legs astraddle its rain-gray body, gripping its slick between my thighs, we race the spray. We leap, roll, rise, soar, and splash. My clitoris against its dorsal fin, the cartiligean press, a yield and pulse with the rise and retreat of the sea. I am with the tides. The briny murky depths. The swell and crash. I am always changing. Sea foam against your ankles feels like whispers, telling secrets you thought you knew, but didn’t. I have my secrets. You have yours.
I can tell you what I know. There are prophecies. There are truths from the beginning of things. There are situations we arrive at knowing or not. Proteus told me: “Were you to get pregnant, you’ll bear a baby boy, one who will outdo his dad.” Jove wanted me. But he didn’t want to be outdone. He sent Peleus, his mortal grandson, in his stead. Take that virgin as your bride, Jove told him.
I can tell you where I was. There was a cove. The water there was clear. An eyelid of sand in various states of blink depending on the ebb and flow of the tide, the phase of the moon. Among the rocks along the shore, a grove of myrtle trees, their berries purple-red, hid a cave. I went there to rest. I dismounted my dolphin and took deep sleep. It was a hidden place. I slept naked in this cave.
I woke one afternoon in living nightmare. Peleus on top of me. He pleaded, begged his case, this fragile creature who knows of ends. Who do you think I am? I wondered without saying. No no no no no, I said out loud. It was not the answer that he wanted, and so he moved toward force. Don’t you understand? I thought. I’m not like the women that you know. I can change myself to anything.
I shift my own shape.
And as he pressed upon me clumsily, this awkward mortal man, I showed him.
A bird at first, I fluttered, tweeped, and beaked his skin, nono, nonono. He didn’t heed, kept lunging for me, grasping. I shifted to a beech tree, wide trunked and mighty, and my bark bloodied his knuckles as he groped and grabbed. He did not stop. I changed to a tiger, muscled, clawed. My roar dizzied him. He saw the points of my teeth. And because he knows about ends, he was afraid, and fled.
And he asked the gods for aid. What do I do?
Proteus told him how to get his way. He outlined my torture. “When she sleeps, tie her up. Bind her hands. Knot her tight. Stay on top of her. She’ll take a hundred shapes. Each one is a lie. Ride her until she can shift her shape no more and returns to her nude truth.”
I can tell you how it looked. I woke in my cave with my wrists bound, tied wide to each side, Peleus’s weight on my body. First I shouted my objection.
Then I began my bestiary.
I went from woman to
* * *
Elephant legs like beech tree trunks tusks aside the snuffle, wise eyes with sadness for the graves to
Squirrel gray comma curled tail scattering up trunks click of mischief to
Weasel soft wild sock with fangs to
Ladybug five black spots against the red acrid odor when there’s fear to
Mourning dove color of dawn, coo coo the color of calm to
Raccoon burly masquerading night beast, small palms grasp the way we all do to
Vulture wide-winged eyes aimed toward rot toward the splay of viscera on the sand riding thermals between infinity and death
Which are the same thing after all to
Pelican deep beaked on the dock to
Camel sand dune bump humped two-toed soft stepped what’s water to
Ibis round-backed bird long black beak deep dusky red a splash of grapefruit juice added to the cranberry to
Horseshoe crab spike-tailed like a spade prehistory in the feathers of the feet to
Great blue heron on stalks stoic in shallows feather tint of morning sky to
Buffalo dark wooly thickness a gallop like thunder and a dry blue tongue to
Scorpion whether insect or other who knows poison in the puncture lurking in your shoes to
Possum pale and always looking moist babies on the back pointy-faced to
Goldfish loyal sparkling swimmer glitter like coins near the surface to
Beaver furred dentata saw-toothed gnaw your bones to grind my teeth to
Fox flame across the backyard sleek and fleet as fire to
Rooster dawn’s strut feather flay like a spray of sparks ruler of the morning to
Boa constrictor thick serpent wrapping tighter hug gone suffocating but I imagine this is a nice way to die to
Goat devilish rectangular pupils do you want to live deliciously I do I do I do to
Catfish whiskered scum sucker grab ’em right out of the polluted canals hold them in your fists to
Rat flattened on the roads squeezed in cement’s cracks leathered baby-biters plague-makers to
Otter a water poem a dark brown sleek a backstroke of small paws water joy
* * *
And I pant and twist, keep changing, and Peleus remains on top of me, hanging on to my outsides, his entry into me blocked by my ever-shifting shape
* * *
Then to
Walrus sand slug lardy tusked bayer on the beach to<
br />
Snail shelled slug slick on the sidewalk my shining sluction to
Bat black-skeletoned black velvet night angel to
Swan white slide on the water with the proudest chest in the animal kingdom to
Squid fingerling pulse with no bones a thready throb of milk muscle to
Frog at algal squat by the pond a tinny song and great green leaps to
Alligator amber-eyed at lurk on the surface full-length spike to
Hummingbird glittering green about my neck tiny heart thidthidthidthidthid one thousand miles a minute to
Moth dust-winged by the porch light to
Eagle mean-faced wide-winged more bullet than bird to
Cricket tunes the violin tucked at the back of my thighs to
Sheep sink your hands into the coils of oily cream wool to
Moose steeple-heighted loomer to
Gecko seedling green rappelling up walls chirp like a toy to
Porcupine a creature made of cactus spines a prickling pelt to
Anaconda fifteen coiling uncoiling feet thick as a football when there’s a toddler inside to
Egret white where black river meets shore like the color on the collar of the habit of a nun to
Ant blistery go-getter to
Jaguar jungle sleekness pads of silence to
Chicken prancing clucker color of caramel to
Iguana almost unblinking spiked a low-down dragon with no fire to
Rabbit cabbage-bodied nibbler by the bushes on the run to
Jellyfish luminous throbber party streamers swaying below to
Crow a winter caw and a black so black it’s purple green and midnight
* * *
I am changing faster faster the panic builds it feels a little bit like drowning
* * *
Cockroach armored and ongoing to
Swallow darting swooper in the evenings to
Boar stubbled tusked muscled ferocity to
Octopus tenticular sentience inky three-hearted elegance to
Horse hoofed mover canoe hull rib cage to
Owl history in the span of wing in the silence of my eyes
Groundhog tubby tunneler to
Giraffe endless necked bending down to kiss with arm-length purple tongue to
Dragonfly midair fucking on gossamer to
Rhinoceros sad-eyed jouster to
Robin blush-chested sign of spring to
Pig muddied bristled pink snout slopping to
Daddy longlegs orb on walking threads to
Peacock emerald purple splay to
Zebra black like the bars of a crib or a cage to
Mosquito song of insomnia to
Seahorse curled tail undersea cavalry to
Skate wide white sheet of underwater muscle, all wing, all wave to
Musk ox densest sweater to
Mouse shadow scurrier to
Bee honey-combing pollinator to
Ram heavy-horned skull basher to
Polar bear yellowed on smalling ice floes to
Wolf a dog jawed wildness to
Badger grumpy in the den to
Cardinal red light to
Seagull shoreline mourner to
Turtle leather and shell, crust and the dough to
Penguin arctic wobbler to
Spider crab pinching warriors to
Swordfish a sleeker sort of unicorn to
Hippopotamus furless behemoth with a mouth that can swallow the world to
Snow leopard mountains hiding in my tail to
Manatee giant solid dust mite to
Civet lithe pointy-faced feline secretor to
Skunk an odor more solid than the light-and-shadow form to
White-tailed deer leaping my flash of snow behind me to
Firefly light pulse by the bushes at the edges of the yard to
Olm blind in double darkness pale squirmers in underwater caves to
Mongoose slithering egg eater to
Barnacle sessile filter feeder take the skin off of your knuckles to
Electric eel socketed shocker in the current to
Clam pouch of brine flesh sealed inside a purse of shell
* * *
Exhausted, the beasts become no longer of this earth
* * *
A sheet of golden color like the surface of the sun hard-edged blinding yellow to
A woman with tree legs, leaf waist, lion arms, six breasts whose roar is the wind to
Headless, holeless creature crawling on hands, knees, sores on the skin oozing weeping weeping weeping to
Hatchling out of a massive egg too-wide human face, stump legs, low bird-feathered body and under each feather another tiny bird emerging, wide-mouthed featherless blind needle-beaked hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of tiny mouths to
Moon-eyed fish face with a gasping gaping mouth where tiny men on fire come rushing out in scream to
A bristled thrashing yowler with no eyes and eight legs walking on human hands to
A woman legs splayed giving birth to a woman giving birth to a woman giving birth emerging in blood from between the legs again again again to
A shadow to
A scream to
A sigh to
A puddle to
* * *
Myself again, dissolved. I had nothing left in me. My wrists bound, a woman’s form again, and in that moment Peleus entered into me. He’d clung tight, and when I was back to a woman’s form he pushed in and sprayed himself up into me, and I lay there like a corpse. It was the final shape I took that day, and for the first time afterward, I did not choose the shape my body took. Over the coming months, a slow swell, a growing, my body not just mine, and out came Achilles, who will have no trouble outdoing his dad who bound my hands and held on. Each shape a lie, said Proteus. Wrong. I can tell you the truth. Each one is in me, every part is true. I’m a shifting shape flickering between the trees, over and under the waves, shadowy and swift, a moving intertwine of forms. I’ve got all the animals inside me, their blood moves in my blood. I take any form I want. Raven, moss, or church. Stone or snake or light. The one form I didn’t choose, the motherhood forced upon me, I absorbed into myself as well, powerful as all the rest. Stillness is the only trouble. In our changing, we trick time, proving that once being does not mean always will be. I choose my shape. You choose yours. We don’t always know what’s inside of us, or what it might take to free that creature from its cage.
SALMACIS AND HERMAPHRODITUS
S: All the women of the woods they told me. Pick up the bow. Run the paths. Hunt with us. I saw them. Sweaty. Bruised. Snarled hair stuck with burrs. Animal blood below their nails, dried like ash on the private part of their wrists. No thank you. It’s good to challenge yourself, said the naiads. Rest feels better when you work for it, they said. I worked for it. The women of the woods chased animals. I had a different hunt.
H: I was fifteen years old.
S: While they chase boar, deer, rabbit, beaver, bear, while their skin is snagged on prickers, while their muscles burn from crouching silent and unmoving so not to startle a stag, I lounge by my spring. I comb my hair. I touch myself. I wait.
H: I’d never left my parents’ home on the mountain before.
S: My spring is unmuddied. No dead leaf murk. No slick surface spread of algal green. No clog. No floating twigs or leaves like little paddle boats. I keep it all the way pristine. I comb my hair. My skin is smooth. These breasts of mine, they’re massive. I look into the water. My reflection pleases me. The robe I wear is a silk the color of the clouds; it drapes off of me like vapor. I leave it open most of the time—I let the wind have its way. The air touches all my body.
H: I’d never kissed a girl.
S: I positioned myself in the morning on moss. My robe ate the dew. My breasts are big as beehives, not like the other naiads, who sweat and run all day, who end up with little lemon breasts. Lying on my side, the softness of my belly dropped, the wide roundness of my hip rising
as result. My right-hand fingers in my hair, my left-hand fingertips on moss, sunlight through the trees dancing on my body. Pure allure. The birds and small soft creatures look upon me. They don’t get close. The eyes of the squirrels are black. The nervous birds’ bones I could crush in my palm, crack their little twig ribs and mash the air right out. They don’t get close enough. My body rises and falls slowly with my breath. I watch the sky move on the spring.
H: I’d left my parents’ home to see the unfamiliar parts of the world. I didn’t know where I was.
S: And then he arrived. He came through the trees into the morning sun by the spring, tentative as a fawn, and I liked this. Son of Aphrodite, son of Hermes, are you lost? Let me help you feel at home, beautiful boy. Let me distract you from your fears. I looked at him and oh, this beautiful young man, this meat. All verge. All cusp. Any minute he would fall from the high ledge of boyhood and land in the bristled plain of being man. And I liked this, too, this almost there but not all the way, this in-between. Long legs with muscle bulge above the knee. The bones of his ankles like arrowheads. The spread of his chest and its smoothness, I imagined no hair yet on this young man. His clavicles across his shoulders like sticks to bang a massive drum. The juicy swell of his lower lip, that bulge, the perfect seagull M of his upper lip. Eyes not black like the squirrels but pristine as my spring, and revealing him right away untouched. Already I was too excited. I needed calm. I smoothed my robe, positioned it off my left shoulder, pulled my long hair over my right. I bit and wet my lower lip.
H: There was a lady at the edge of the water. Her legs were thick, a lot of her beneath a robe. I was seeing too much of her. She did not look like my mother. There was something hungry in her eyes.
S: Your mother is lucky to have had you inside her, I said.
H: I don’t remember what that was like.
S: Your brothers and sisters are lucky, too, if you have them, to be able to look upon you as their sibling.
Wake, Siren Page 16
