Thought I was free. Unbraided heart strings and monthly cowrie shells... thought I was free. This single, solitary life of mine has it's own baggage. Items men in my position must carry: iron and water. Iron is easy enough, but this liquid conversation is tricky. A language I must relearn after some forty summers.
Not that I'm complaining, but most my age are swimming with the fishes. Not carrying jars on their head. But, I have to remember mermaid speak - and quickly.
My voice sounds different under water, so I'm told. A sing-song quality I don't hear myself, but no matter. I wish to commune with a goddess. Such is my life on the river.
Photo: dumbbells in my apt taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (John S, Claunch 72 Monochrome)
