Sometimes Sirens
Rayn Epremian
breathing underwater
floating like a dead thing
my breaths have never been
so musical before
there is no distance between [me]
and ]my breathing[
schools of fish colliding
conferencing
comparing ideologies
blue and yellow surface-darers
orange coral blooming
invisible stingers
we’re only sirens sometimes [when we need to eat]
the rest of the time
we’re flying
under salt waves
like a manta ray
a shark squashed flat
we inhabit
the second dimension that is
surface tension
above and below
are legends of long ago
we’re not old enough
to remember
the separations of directions
we are everywhere
sea-witches on
an Odyssey we’ll
rename female
we own
the orange youth
of the coral bloom
changing color to survive
the heat we might
mistake for sunlight
shadows under water are
alive they breathe
with ripples and seaweed
there is no distance between
[me] and ]your breathing[
we are too young to believe
sandstone ]any different from[ cyan
when we return to land
fins condensing back into
infinite legs with feet on the ends
teeth converging
to a single row
skin
a bit burnt
we’ll bring with us the jubilance
of a salt-water solution
holding closeness
tight in our damp palms
like a smooth green stone found on the beach
Rayn Epremian is a poet, filmmaker, and writer of fantasy novels, science fiction screenplays, and the occasional musical. She currently resides in New York.