Mermaid Twins

Mermaid Twins

by Kari Lindsey Berry

At 5 years old, we were mermaid twins,
with fin braids trailing down our backs,
and hands held to brace the ocean.

At 13, we grew tails and jumped into
backyard pools where we could breathe underwater,
hide secrets in all that saltwater, play dunking games
and pretend we never had to come up for air.

At 18, we tried our legs on land, moved
farther into the mountains, learned that universities
don’t fit into fish bowls, widened our pools.

At 22, we are still sometimes searching for our lost
ocean. We get homesick for waves when our mothers
visit. They leave seashells in their footprints.

It would be so much easier to stay forever
in that backyard
pool, grow old
among rubber inner tubes and noodles.
Laugh as our mothers braid our hair and remark
on how big we are getting.

Too big for that pool.

We go back though. Even though it’s been
filled with grass, even though we must walk
over our forgotten pool. There is a picnic table there now.
We eat dinner there now when we visit.
We make drinks, reminding our mouths
of what it feels to take in liquid, not air.

We are learning
not to hold our breath.

It gets a little easier each time.

 

My best friend Kari is an amazing poet and several years ago she wrote a poem about the two of us growing up inspired by a photo of us dressed in Little Mermaid nightgowns.  I sketched a drawing of the two of us as little girls based on the poem and shortly thereafter the two of us decided we wanted tattoos–me, a line from her poem–her my drawing.  This year when I went home for Christmas we finally made it happen at Heart of Gold Tattoo in Salt Lake City.