SHANAHAN'S COVE

It's Tuesday Poetics and we're asked to
head for the sea and write a mer-poem.
I headed for my favorite spot, but my
mer-poem ended in a mer-prose.
Submitted to dVerse
June 23, 2020
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It was twilight as I walked along the beach, loving the feel of warm sand beneath my toes, heading toward Shanahan’s Cove, my secret place to decompress when life seemed complicated and burdensome.  There was a light mist, and the shoreline was shrouded, with waves lapping lazily against the rocks, and the smooth, flat stone where I often sat.  It was an isolated and secluded little cove, away from it all, where I was always sure to be alone, so it was with surprise I heard the murmur of soft female voices.  The shimmering mists revealed the forms of mermaids engaged in quiet conversation, their voices lyrical and mysterious.  I was unable to understand the words, and as I neared they rose with surprise and slid silently into the waves, disappearing before my eyes with a final flip of their mermaid tails.  I thought perhaps I dreamed it in some sort of seaborne illusion, but there on my stone were strands of seaweed, and a lingering echo seemed to ride the mists.  You may think me fey, and so I may be, but I know what I saw that night at Shanahan’s Cove.